Dearest
by planet p
Summary: AU; Since the anti-Centre group got Affiliation Rights and Parker met her "real" twin, lots of things have changed, one of them being that she is no longer assigned to Jarod's Retrieval Team and has had to find a new "role" in the company - as the mother of Jarod's baby. Whacky, multi-pairing fic! E/L, Angelo/Faith; J/MP, mentions of past Sam/Lyle, Sam/OFC, William/OFC, Ethan/Zoe
1. Chapter 1

Miss Parker was yet to make comment, but Oliver was conscious of her watching him over dinner. He was sure she would soon say something, so he reached for his glass of water – seeing as she couldn't have wine, he'd decided to be supportive and avoid it too – and waited.

When she voiced what was on her mind, at last, he found it wasn't what he'd been expecting. "Do you ever... think back and regret that you took those fifty-two lives in '64?"

He couldn't help but shrug. "That was a long time ago, and I'm not the same person now as I was then, Parker. I'm afraid to say I don't remember that far back. I was only four. I guess I heard about it in passing, but I never really asked about it. Those fifty-two people, I mean. Who... who would want to?"

"Lyle did," she replied quietly. "Think about it. When he had your upgrades. I did." There was an edge to her voice that matched the shine of her eyes, as if she was saddened by the whole thing, almost to the point of tears. "I find it so strange," she added, after a lengthy pause. "That... that you're... Your non-interest, Oliver. If it were me... if I were the one who'd been accused of... of murdering fifty-two people... for _any_ reason, I would want to know."

"Why? Feeling bad about it isn't going to bring them back, Parker. I hear what you're saying, but there's nothing you or I or anyone else can do now to undo what has already happened."

She shook her head slowly. "No. You're right, Oliver. There's nothing. But there is something someone could do to prevent it happening again."

"Such as what our mother tried, Parker? Such as that? That's crazy! Our mother _died_!"

She looked away from him, upset. Almost too quietly for him to hear, she whispered, "My mother."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Look, Parker, I already said I hear what you're saying! And it was _sad_! But it's the past!"

She looked back to meet his eyes, her gaze unflinching. "If there was a way to put an end to upgrading, would you support it?"

"I..." He threw up his hands, aggrieved at her sudden bout of strangeness. (So maybe that other Empath, her _fake_ twin, had had a point when he'd said she was strange.) He couldn't help a laugh. She was just being so strange. "What is this, Parker? The third degree?"

She refused to reply, waiting for his answer to her earlier question.

"No," he replied at last. "No, I wouldn't support it. I think upgrading has a lot of valuable things to offer mankind, despite its obvious or imagined drawbacks. And I love this company. I wouldn't support 'putting an end' to a better future, no!"

"You _love_ this company!?" The tone in Miss Parker's voice was distinctly sickened, but that could merely have been a by-product of her pregnancy. Or the fact that he'd disagreed with her one true love, her fucked-up former "twin", he thought darkly. He really was getting to be sick of the way she couldn't let go of this guy. It seemed like a good time for her to be getting a new shrink, to him.

"Yes, they have supported me, and I think they do good work – for all of us. For mankind."

Miss Parker laughed, the strange glint in her eye very obviously mocking.

He shrugged again. "The evidence this little rant is riding on right now, the evidence of the so obviously hazardous and deadly nature of upgrades – wasn't that your little lover boy's doing? He hacked the Tower – on numerous occasions, I might add – and _stole_ it! And then he sent it to Bartholomew, whom he'd have had us all believe he hated beyond compare, yet, when the chips were down and he needed someone to hop on up on his crazy bandwagon with him – who did he choose? Mr. Lyle Bartholomew, the Enemy!" He laughed. "You'll excuse me, darlin', if I don't exactly buy that ploy! There's no earthly reason to believe he didn't doctor that evidence, or simply manufacture it all himself! He was after this company from the beginning! God, I can't believe you still don't get it! This is our family's company – their legacy! _Our_ legacy!"

Parker pushed her chair back and stood up without uttering a single word. Then, turning away from the table coldly and efficiently, she stalked to the door. There, she stopped only long enough to scowl, "Never, ever, call me that again, Oliver! You hear me? Never!"

"Call you what?" he called out after her. Then, because she really was being unreasonable, he couldn't help but laugh.

Out in the hallway, out of his earshot, she whispered, "Darlin'." Oliver did not get to call her that. He wasn't _her_ Noah, if he was even her brother at all. Lyle, even with his craziness, when he so chose to be, had been truer to Noah than Oliver could ever be. The guy didn't even consider it a matter of importance that, as a four-year-old, he'd killed fifty-two people. He didn't think it strange or unusual, or unnatural! And he couldn't see whose fault it was, even when the truth was staring him right in the face! All he said was, "I love them". After all they'd done, to him and so many others, he loved them.

She wanted to puke, and that wasn't the pregnancy talking either. Lately, she'd found Oliver just damn unapproachable. Boy, and here she'd been thinking Lyle – fake twin number one – was hard to handle, but this one was on a whole other level.

And she knew he'd never once thought it okay that Noah had killed those people. Because the truth was, it wasn't okay.

Maybe Oliver felt secure putting the whole thing from his mind, but she didn't. Noah had been her twin, her other half, as it were, and when he'd been four, he'd killed fifty-two people. When she'd been four, fifty-two people had died because the company she now worked for – her great and glorious legacy – had deemed it "feasible", and good for business, "for mankind".

She'd thought about those fifty-two people, on the odd occasion, and she'd wondered what their families must have thought, and felt, at the time. She'd always imagined they would feel how she'd felt when her mother had died. Loss. Accident or no accident, someone was dead, and the loss couldn't be made up for. Ever.

She'd never much thought about it in great detail, about Lyle having her brother's upgrades – she'd tried not to think on it so hard, ever since she'd found out, because it had made her feel so sick and violated for her poor baby brother – but now she couldn't help thinking it had done him some good, had been a wake-up call of sorts as to his own murderous behaviours. If it had been in any way possible, the whole scenario smacked of something Jarod would do, though she knew it hadn't been Jarod's doing in any way. It just seemed so much like poetic justice, right down to the part where some strange people you've never met take you away and murder you, and your family and loved ones, if you have any, are left to wonder forever more, what really happened and why, for goodness sakes, why?!

If she'd been a little more insane, she might have suspected hapless Ol, but Ol was too self-absorbed, as much as he was pissed at Lyle for what he saw as "brainwashing" her and "stealing" her heart. And he wasn't that clever, former Empath or not. It wasn't his style, and her Perception told her Oliver was about as deep as the straight-from-the-bottle fake tan Denis's PA was currently sporting. Oliver wasn't secretly hankering after the company's destruction, and he wasn't going to turn out to be a super secret double agent working for the enemy but not really (because they'd tortured/fucked-up/abandoned his one true love, whom he later ended up killing, out of authenticity, of course, and all in the name of his greater plan).

Closing her bedroom door after her, she climbed into bed and shut her eyes. Maybe she shouldn't have been so comfortable having Ol in the house – and leaving him unsupervised, at that – but the company wanted her to trust him, and this was her best way of proving to them that she did (even if she didn't). They wouldn't let him hurt her, she was carrying their future inside her womb.

* * *

Mia Avrilleine Halpen, _the_ Mia Halpen, had been born in 1986, a year prior to Broots's daughter, Debbie. She was 27, a model, popular in the media, and, seemingly, Oliver's on-again-off-again love interest.

The media didn't know about Oliver Copeland, 53, currently of Blue Cove, Delaware. Former manager of electronics superstore, Umitech's, Wilmington outlet.

According to the tabloids and their online counterparts, Mia Halpen was currently dating young up-and-coming actor, Russo Daniels (born George Brevin Daniels), 24. His twin sister, Twyla "White Bell" Daniels was a Country & Western singer with numerous prestigious awards already under her belt. Her latest single, _Ardith, Idaho_, was faring well on the charts. Meanwhile, the Daniels' twins were set to star in the new television series, _Grania_, with actress Guri Narayan and _Miseryland_ favourite, Jesse Diesel.

All of this Miss Parker had discovered online, over the course of several hours, after learning that her twin, Oliver, had once dated famous Mia. (A slip-up on Oliver's part, no doubt.) Parker was certain that the company knew all about Oliver's extracurricular activities involving the young model (they liked to make it their business to know other people's business, after all), but thus far they didn't seem to find the involvement threatening. Parker, on the other hand, did. It didn't make sense to her that a beautiful, successful young woman like Mia would want anything to do with dry, humourless, old Oliver. The rumours were that Russo planned to pop the question soon.

And then there was the fact that Parker had heard Oliver on the phone at 2 AM, pleading – really begging – with Mia. And now, this morning, Oliver had someplace important to be.

Miss Parker ate her breakfast quietly, asking no questions. Oliver was looking much too smart, though somehow still painfully stuffy-office-type, but she didn't say anything about that either. He looked like he was getting ready for an important job interview, not a hot date. Parker wanted to tell him that Mia was probably planning on dumping him once and for all, and warning him that the next time he came near her, he'd be violating the intervention order she'd had put in place, but she didn't say that either.

A part of her wasn't sure. What if Oliver really was her twin? If he was, surely she wished him only the best, despite his insistent adoration of the company who'd destroyed his life. Apparently all the things they'd done to him had since been forgiven; the only one who'd been hanging on to all that hurt was Lyle, the Empath slighted.

Parker wanted to shake Oliver and make him see what the company had done to him was so wrong, but a part of her wanted to be happy for him for letting it go and moving on with his life. For getting away, if only for a couple of years. If only Lyle had never come across Noah's upgrades, had never devoted his life to seeking vengeance on a company who'd promptly forgot about him the moment his father stopped paying them.

Recalling the conversation she and Oliver had shared some days ago – they hadn't spoken since – Parker decided that it was time for her to get serious. Oliver didn't want to remember what had been done to him, didn't want the company to have that sort of power over him ever again. He could tolerate them, but they weren't ever going to tell him who to be or who not to be; they wouldn't mess with his mind again because he wasn't going to give them any reason to. He was completely unremarkable, in the grand scheme of things, and he meant to remain so.

Oliver worked for the company, but he didn't ask complicated questions. He knew they did some questionable things, but he didn't want to know. He couldn't help that they did the things they did, but he could do his job ethically and to his best ability. He was careful not to volunteer more of himself than he was willing to give. He was smarter than he looked.

But Parker still thought he was a coward. If he hurt, when no one was looking, when he could have safely done so, nobody knew. She hurt and she wished she knew if Oliver did too. Just knowing they had that in common would have been enough, but Oliver wouldn't even give her that. She supposed she should have been thankful that he wasn't a liar, but she wasn't thankful, could not be, when she thought of Noah, of the little boy who'd once been her imaginary friend, who'd so successfully ruined a strong, independent Possessor like Lyle.

Oliver wasn't even proud that he'd been a part of taking down a crazy like Lyle; he was just pissed at how he'd messed up Parker. According to him, she was in love with the lunatic, but Parker still considered Lyle something, someone, to her, her fake twin.

She knew she had to let go of him eventually, but it wasn't as easily as all that. Empaths really had a way of getting under people's skin, and it didn't help that, in the end, Lyle had genuinely seemed to want to be her friend. Or that they (had) had a son together. Aster was dead now. Barb had told her that Lyle had apparently turned his Reaper abilities to good use upon realising that the Tower meant to give Noah's upgrades to the younger triple Possessor. The way he saw it, Aster was no competition, and he'd proved it because now Aster was dead. Parker didn't buy that Lyle would murder his child over something as petty as that, but she wasn't ready to question the Tower over it, either. Lyle was, or had been, very sick. Anything was possible. He might have believed he was sparing Aster from a slow and agonising death, showing him a real mercy (as a parent might for their child). She wasn't even angry at Lyle anymore. She'd been taught that it wasn't honourable, to be angry at the dead, and if she couldn't let go of her anger at him, she knew she'd never let go of him, so she'd made a concerted effort not to hate him anymore.

If only she could have told Oliver how hard she was trying, he might have stopped saying she was so in love with Lyle, but she didn't yet trust Oliver and it seemed too personal a thing to share so easily.

If she was honest, she had just one question for Lyle. She wanted to know if he'd made any headway on disabling and removing upgrades. If she could have asked him anything, she wouldn't ask how many poor, sorry souls he'd ruined in the course of his mission, their names or social security numbers (if they existed). She wouldn't try to guilt trip him. She'd only ask: Did it work?

And in her mind, where he loved her the way he'd always claimed he did, he would answer her truthfully, and that would be enough. She would be able to let go.

She had spent many lonely hours seeking out his Voice, but now that he was truly gone, he was gone for good. When he said he loved her, he'd lied. As usual.

* * *

The penguin on the couch was, as it happened, just a penguin. A stuffed toy. It wasn't hiding any secret messages, and he'd checked (eight degrees to the left, but nothing). Unless it was acting as sentry, on the look-out for home invaders, Jarod thought humorously.

Well, it was Broots's house. Broots and his younger fiancee's new house. Any seemingly random item might have been outfitted with a camera or listening device. The girl, Broots's fiancee, was Lyle's daughter, according to Parker. The one from Canada whose mom he'd murdered for being an enemy of the company, only Jarod knew she hadn't remained that way. Why would the girl need fancy gadgetry when she was practically a piece of fancy gadgetry herself? A Class Five Empath, her record had said.

Right on cue, just as the thought had struck him, said girl appeared in the door he'd been watching. He couldn't help a smile.

Silvana didn't smile back.

* * *

"You haven't had any contact with Lyle since his transfer to the Tower?"

Silvana wouldn't look at him, but instead played with the toy penguin – Jarod knew its name was Sydney – holding one of its little, worn hands in her own. "No," she said, to the television. "Daddy hasn't contacted me. They say he is dead." She shrugged, belatedly, her eyes fixed on the blank television screen.

"You've heard what they're all saying about him?"

"Of course. They're saying what they always say. He was a bad, bad person. How he preferred it. I think he must have thought he was too."

"But you didn't think he was?" Jarod asked.

"He was my father. We've all made mistakes, Jarod. I loved him, very much. I personally thought he could stand to lighten up some. He might've been proficient at many things, in truth, had many 'positive' qualities with which to jazz up his resume. An optimistic, upbeat outlook wasn't one of them. But I believe he had many perfectly good reasons for this."

She looked at Jarod abruptly, a smile forming on her face. "I don't imagine you'd have a whole lot of reasons to smile either, the Child of Prophecy?"

"I disagree. I have a lot of reasons to smile. Whatever the Centre or anyone else has done to me, I'm still a human being. They cannot stop me from smiling, if that's what I want to do."

"When the blood of those whose lives you have taken or destroyed is on your hands, and your hands still feel strange, not really like your own hands, even when you wash all the blood away down the drain and out of your life, it leaves a mark. A stain on your soul."

"Are you speaking out of personal experience, or strictly professionally?"

"I never killed anyone," she said. "They never told me I had. Hurt them, sometimes a lot. Badly, you might say. Made them sick. Felt them inside, felt so close to them, and then – Wham! Hurt them. But never with my hands. I never saw the blood. Felt it, but I never saw it."

He let her go on about her past with IRIS, didn't try to stop her in any way. Yes, he'd read about her past, when he'd first learnt about her. He'd been curious. According to the records the Centre kept, she hadn't killed anyone yet. He didn't tell her this though.

"Daddy wasn't always bad. He had a gift, but I don't think he saw it that way. He didn't smile a whole lot, unless it was for show, then he could pretend. I think he was depressed, or something else. We didn't talk about it, but I think that was because he didn't see the reason in talking about something you couldn't do anything about anyhow. Perhaps he was afraid of inflicting his miserableness on me. He liked to try to smile, if I was about, and I'd always find something to be angry at him for, though I really wanted to be happy. But I wasn't really angry, I was just sad. I didn't think he respected me. He was always trying to make out like everything was fine, or would be okay, eventually. He just seemed to be being so unreal and dishonest. It made me angry; I couldn't help it. I wasn't the enemy, but he was treating me the way he treated them. Hide, lie. Don't let on, don't let them see the truth. Don't let them care.

"I wasn't interested in any of the popular theories that might have explained his behaviour, that he might have wanted to protect me and keep me safe, out of the line of fire, as they say, or that he didn't want to drag me down with him and sully my chances at a happy existence. I wanted most of all to be respected – as an equal. And in my mind, that meant I was allowed to hear the truth. Entitled to it. But with Dad, your guess is as good as mine. The truth can kill you, or set you free. I think that's what they say. Or maybe there is no difference, in the end?"

She looked away to the door, looking for someone who wouldn't appear there. Broots was away on a conference, he would not magically appear and offer a comforting hug.

"Did you know about the upgrades?" Jarod asked.

"Yes. Daddy told me." She looked at him, hugging the penguin. "Why do you ask?"

"Lyle made a deal with a man named Adama. In 2002. Did he tell you about that?"

"No. This is one of the men from Africa? Adama Nkosi?"

Jarod nodded. He hadn't known Adama's last name, but maybe it was merely an alias.

"Daddy didn't tell me about his plans. He didn't include me in such things. He must have been a great admirer of Catherine, I often think. Do not tell the ones who care for you that you may soon be leaving them. Smile, when you say goodbye, so they will have good memories of you. Do not create unnecessary conflict.

"I knew that the upgrades were degrading, and that, soon, my father would die. This, he told me. That is what the upgrades do to you, and I had begun to notice things. The signs you would expect." She frowned, seemingly at a loss, waiting for him to tell her something.

"You miss your father?"

"Yes. Too often. I do not think he was happy, in his last moments. I regret that I was not there, to smile, to leave him with a few hopeful words. I would have told him he would be thought of fondly. If I had told him, I could have let him go. I would not feel sad when I think of him now. I would understand that where he had gone was... was not a lonely, hopeless place. I could see that he had left this place but he was also embracing his future. But I cannot feel that way. He was taken from my heart without my permission, and there is an emptiness there now."

"Adama knew that he'd worked with biomech tech in Canada. He wanted Lyle to develop a method for removing upgrades. He gave your father an upgrade to work with, as a beginning. You don't know what happened to that upgrade, do you?"

"No. He did not tell me any of this."

"Didn't you wonder why he was dying?"

"It was because of the upgrades. He said he'd done it to try and convince Miss Parker that he was her twin, to impress the company. He said he hadn't known of the harmful side effects of upgrading. He found that out later. He was understandably upset."

"He didn't know? You're sure about that, are you? They say he was Naomi. I'm sure, if that was true, that he'd have known."

Silvana shook his head. "I didn't know. Daddy, working with Naomi? I can't imagine that, Jarod."

"Why's that?"

"He was a sick person, wasn't he? I think that would have mattered to Naomi. They would not have taken on someone who was so obviously an unacceptable liability. Do you think he was Naomi?"

"No." Jarod frowned. "Are you Naomi?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question, Silvana."

She shook her head. "No. I am not working for Naomi. I am not working for anyone. I am just trying to live my life, and love the people I care for as long as I am able."

"For as long as you're able? Did Lyle give you that upgrade?"

She frowned, genuinely upset by his suggestion. "No. Back when I was with IRIS, I was given the AH serum. I cannot be Healed. I could not work for Naomi. I would be a dangerous, possibly deadly liability."

"Do you know where your father came by Noah's upgrades?"

"I don't know why you insist on asking these questions, Jarod. I have already told you I do not have the answers you are looking for."

"You're an Empath, Silvana. A Class Five, the same as your dad. And you have the advantage of being a double Possessor. You're a Mediator too, if I'm not mistaken."

"I could not Read Dad," Silvana told him. "He was an experienced Empath. And he was not the same, he was different from who he'd been before. To survive, he had to change. He'd lapsed into a successive personality. I am the same person I was when I was born. I am still Saskia, I just use a different name. I think it was this successive personality, Lyle, that enabled him to Block me so successfully. In truth, I never knew my real, biological father. I only knew the shadow of him."

Jarod touched her hand, understanding her pain. She might merely have been playing him, hoping to gain his trust, to fool him, or she might have been genuine. Either way, he felt as though he should offer her something, some type of comfort.

Silvana took her hand from underneath his. "I would like to be able to offer you more, to tell you more. For my friend, Miss Parker. I would like to be able to tell her about her twin, Noah, but all I know is what I have already told you, Jarod. I do not know any more than this. My father was a very secretive person, and a very smart person. Calculation and subterfuge came just as naturally to him as breathing does to any of us. It was how he was able to survive all these years."

Jarod nodded. "A lot of people mistakenly underestimated him. They only saw the confident, successful facade, or the traumatised young man. They missed the bigger picture." He smiled. "I think you would have liked him, Silvana. Bobby. He was, in many ways, a hopeful, forgiving person. A loving person."

"I saw the episode _True Crimes_ ran on him," Silvana told her.

"Cleary didn't get everything right, Silvana."

She hugged her penguin. Calmly, she said, "My friends call me Silvie."

Jarod smiled. "Silvie. I like that."

"You think Bobby was a forgiving person?" she asked, quietly sceptical.

"Oh, very forgiving. That's why Lyle was so unforgiving. He couldn't be like Bobby. Forgiveness hadn't worked out for Bobby. I guess Lyle assumed it would only lead him to a bad place in the end, as it had Bobby. He saw it as a weakness, a discouragement to quality of life. Honesty was not a commodity he could afford to toy with. It wasn't that he didn't love you, I think it was because he loved you so very much that he couldn't be straight with you. He couldn't run the risk of becoming the one who let you down, who hurt you."

"Do you really believe that?" Silvie asked.

Jarod shrugged. "No, not really, but it's a nice thought, don't you think?"

"A nice fantasy, given out of kindness or deceit, is neither nice nor respectful, Jarod."

Jarod nodded. "I see that you are Lyle's daughter."

She frowned, shaking her head. "Yes, I am Lyle's daughter. I do have dreams, and fantasies. But I expect respect, when given, to be reciprocated. I do not wish for untruths, for dishonest, well-meaning attempts to smooth over the perceived harshness of reality. I do not ask for such things, and if I had, then I would understand what I was asking for. I would still know the truth.

"My father hid so much. He'd say he loved me, and then he'd go right ahead and lie to my face. For my own good, naturally. All I wanted was the truth. I tried hard to be forgiving, to give him the space he needed to still be himself, but I don't know that that person was a particularly good or moral person. I know he wasn't a good person. He could be very cruel, and incredibly cold. Distant, unapproachable. He'd tell himself, I'm sure, that he had little choice. He was misguided and he was the one misguiding himself. I did not love him less for it, but I understood his moods. He was a damaged individual, of course, so it was understandable. Perfectly understandable. I was as understanding as I knew how to be, up 'til a point. I tried so hard, but he was adamant, stuck in his ways. And then, just when I'd managed to forgive him, he would suddenly transform into this happy, affectionate person. He was bipolar, among other things, but that was one thing I could not stand. The way he would just... change so drastically, almost completely. I am an Empath, I understand the difficulty in holding tight to one's true self. But Dad was messed-over in a whole different way. I think, personally, that all those drugs," she indicated her head with a finger, "messed him up."

"You understand why Dad didn't want him seeing Emily and Aretha, in the hospital?"

"I can empathise, I suppose – if I have to – but increasingly, I find myself disinclined to. What he did was wrong, and I don't think the decision was up to him. Forgetting about Dad, it wasn't fair to Mom or Aretha. I honestly expected Charles to know better, after what he went through with," she gestured to Jarod, "his own kids." She shook her head, rubbing her arm with a hand. "I don't know if you're aware, but I knew Kyle. He was a part of my heart. I was horribly bitter when Dad did what he did, when he took Kyle away from us, but I have come to forgive Dad for that. Holding a grudge over it, or holding onto malice for what happened in the past isn't going to make me a happier, more adjusted person. It isn't honouring Kyle's memory, or the goodness inside him. I let my anger go so Kyle's spirit could be free. I expect I will someday come to forgive Charles, but I'm not promising it will be anytime soon."

"You forgave Kyle for what he did to you and your mom?" Jarod asked.

She nodded. "Daddy was hopeful for him. He saw something in Kyle that I found hard to envisage. It was only when Daddy went away and all of the pressure and competition went with him that I began to see something of what Daddy had seen. Kyle wasn't bad to me then. I think he even tried to look out for me, in his own way, but sometimes the company didn't approve. He argued with them too much. He was capable of care, under the right circumstances. It was always there, it was just hidden. Protected. Sometimes, a little too fiercely. Kyle could get, ah, carried away. Yeah, sorta like Dad." She smiled affectionately. "Boys."

She brushed the hair out of her face and met Jarod's eyes. Though her eyes resembled her father's in shape, they were neither the colour of her mother's or her father's eyes; instead, they were a warm brown hue. They were, in actuality, rather beautiful, but Jarod refrained from saying so. He didn't want the girl to feel weird around him. "You're wrong about Daddy," she told him. "He could be forgiving and hopeful, but he never let it show. I told you, he hid a lot of things."

Jarod frowned. "Are you hiding something right now?"

She nodded silently. "There are stories that are not mine to tell," she said. "But I want you to know, I am not angry at you. I do not withhold this information out of spite. You could not have known what Kyle would do, and you have always treated me fairly. You might have told the company of my true identity, as I am sure you had me figured out some years ago, but you did not. I thank you for that, Jarod. You are a good person." She offered him a smile. "We will always be family."

Jarod frowned. "Silvie, please. If something is wrong, you have to tell me. I want to help you."

She shook her head. "You cannot, sweetheart."

"Why can't I help?"

"You are not my father," she told him plainly, honestly.

Jarod sighed. He nodded. He understood what she was saying. No matter how much he wanted to help, he couldn't. She needed to let go of her Dad, and she could only do that in her own time. No amount of wishing for it to happen sooner would hasten the process. She just had to wait. Her father was gone and she could no longer say goodbye.

Jarod just hoped she would be okay.

"Is there anyone you can think of – anyone – he might have confided in?"

"Tazu Iakawa," she said.

Jarod frowned. Tazu Iakawa was dead. She was one of the young women Lyle had murdered in college, along with her best friend, Chiyo Hakamora.

Silvie nodded. "She's dead. I understand that. They were friends. She and Dad were tight. Thick as thieves." She laughed, thinking back to the past. "She used to delight in encouraging Dad. I didn't find it amusing. I couldn't talk to Dad when she was around. I don't think it helped that Kyle would talk to her, but he ignored me completely. I was super jealous. Dad and her had their own little club. I used to think it was so unfair."

"They were... friends?"

"I think she was supposed to be haunting him. She just wasn't very good at it. Trust me, you didn't want to be there when she decided they should have a karaoke showdown, 'cause it's cool and totally boredom busting. When I had work in the morning, mind you. I don't know, I think she did it to get on my nerves, not that she'd admit it. She was such a little shit, just because she could be. She even told me once she thought your parents made a cute couple, but it was sad they weren't more romantic together. I sorta wanted to punch her then."

"Wow," Jarod commented. "She sounds like a real pocket rocket."

"You could say that," Silvie commented dryly. "But I prefer to call it pervtastic. She thought we should get strippers for Kyle's birthday. Yeah right. Think again, girlfriend."

"Do you often see spirits?"

"No. Not often."

"Miss Parker had an encounter herself a couple years back."

"I heard about that," Silvie replied. "She was a little girl, wasn't she?"

Jarod nodded.

"Do you think the little girl was attached to Miss Parker somehow?"

"I think they had a connection," Jarod told her. He frowned. "Did your dad tell you Kyle had spoken with him?"

"Tazu implied it, more than anything."

"Lyle never mentioned him to you directly?"

"No."

"And you're certain that Tazu was truthfully there, that she wasn't a fabrication Impressed on you by your father?"

Silvie frowned. "Oh, whoa! I know Dad was strange, but heck, yes, Tazu was truthfully there! Daddy wasn't that strange." She laughed. "You're pretty funny, you know, Jarod." She sighed, settling down some. "Anyway, Kyle passed on. In 2006. Bye bye, baby. Goodbye." She made as if waving to a small child, her expression an odd mixture of happy and sad. "I didn't even get to kick his ass. He used to help me brush up on my ass-kicking skills, you know. He was the funniest! We pulled some funny stunts together, gave the Sweepers a run for their money. That boy was cool."

Jarod nodded. "Are you taking any medication at the moment, Silvana?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, smiling at him brightly.

"Are you sure you haven't just forgotten to take it?"

"Yep." The smile slipped from her face. "I think Daddy knew what Kyle would do if he tried to hurt you. I think he wanted to give Kyle a choice, a way out. Kyle was getting better, but I think he was afraid it wouldn't last, and he'd get worse again." She shrugged. "I don't know why Kyle wouldn't come to me, if it was anything else. He could have really dissed Daddy out." She frowned. "Do you think he really got to meet his angel?"

"His angel?" Jarod asked. He'd heard, once, that Kyle had believed himself to have a guardian angel, but Jarod didn't believe in that sort of thing. If anything, he supposed it might have been a spirit he'd seen, just as Miss Parker had seen Angel.

Silvie shrugged. "Guardian angel. I don't see spirits. I haven't killed anyone, to the best of my knowledge, so... Have you ever seen a spirit?"

"No. Is it weird?"

She shook her head. "Tazu's weird. I don't think all spirits are like that." She glanced around her suspectly. "I hope she didn't hear me say that." With a sleepy huff, she said, "I wish Daddy would come to see me."

"I think Emily was hoping the same thing," Jarod told her honestly.

Silvie sniffed. "Daddy's such a bitch."

Jarod stared at her.

She started to sing "You Don't Have to Say You Love Me". Jarod had heard that she sung sometimes, in the beginning, she'd done it to supplement her income, but she didn't work anymore, she stayed home and took care of the household and her kids. He could understand how that could have worked, however. She had a good voice, much the same as her mom. Halfway through one of her lines, she sung, "I'm murdering this song for you, Daddy! I dare you to come and stop me, bumpkin!"

Jarod glanced at his watch to check the time, noticing that it was now quite late. He hoped the children didn't wake up and start crying, to add to the racket. He didn't want the neighbours calling the cops. That would be bad.

Silvie laughed hysterically and started to sing "Ain't No Sun Since You've Been Gone", dancing around the lounge room.

Jarod refrained from crossing his fingers, praying she didn't take a spill over the coffee table. Her dad had been a highly trained Sweeper, but he'd also been unaccountably clumsy when he wasn't in the Sweeper zone, or maybe that was just Miss Parker's presence. He was too busy staring at her and fantasising about her inappropriately.

Still, Jarod wasn't taking any chances. It could have been hereditary or something, as crazy and bizarre as that sounded. Some weird Empath thing, maybe.

Silvie sniffed, stopping in front of the couch. "I have to call Ezra," she said shakily, and left the room in search of her cell phone. Jarod had half a mind to follow her, half thinking that she might actually be calling the company to tell them he'd showed up on her doorstep, but he stood his ground and waited, hoping. They were family.

Silvie wandered up and down the hallway in front of the lounge room door as she spoke. "How was your day today?" she asked Broots.

At least, that was who Jarod assumed she was talking to. He turned to look around the lounge room. Penguin Sydney was sitting on the couch once more, staring at Jarod, his gaze an odd mixture of idleness and intense. Jarod quickly looked away from the penguin. What was it with people and penguins, anyway?

There were a number of children's toys scattered about the room, chunky plastic approximations of computers and other gadgets, a pink fuzzy stuffed animal for which Jarod couldn't name the species it represented. A stack of books sat on a window sill. Romance novels, from what Jarod could tell. He read down the spines and noticed that one of the books was _The Saddest Little Valentine_.

He couldn't help but snigger, smiling to himself. It was a little bit funny, anyway. He crossed to the window and picked the novel out of the stack, eager to know if it was Miss Parker's copy – if she'd palmed it off on Debbie's friend – or if it was another copy, one Silvie had presumably bought herself.

He flipped to the title page and noted the handwritten inscription:

_Sarah,_

_I only do this out of desperation._

_Lyle's taking so long to get through the book, it's killing me! If you make it through before he does, please tell me what happens. I literally __need__ to know!_

_Signed,_

_Broots. (That guy who DOESN'T trust you.)_

Jarod frowned, shutting the book and returning it to the pile. Definitely not Parker's copy, he decided.

Out in the hall, Silvie smiled and said, "Kisses, baby. Sleep well. I'll see you when you get in."

Jarod left the window and sat down on the couch.

Silvie wandered back into the lounge room and took a seat beside Jarod, poking her tongue out at Sydney. "Is Mom okay?" she asked.

"She's getting by," Jarod told her.

Silvie turned to meet his eyes and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry for making you sad," she said. "It was mean of me."

"I'm not sad."

"I shouldn't have brought up Kyle."

"I'm not sad," Jarod repeated.

She squeezed her eyes closed. "I'm getting by too," she whispered.

"That's good to hear," Jarod said, not in a whisper.

"Do you think Mommy will ever find somebody new?"

"She loved your dad very much," Jarod told her. He wasn't rightly sure how, he just knew she had, and still did.

"According to Dad, he didn't mean to do it. You know, get back together with Mom. I didn't believe him. I never believe him. He has those stupid eyes. How can I believe anything he says?" She snorted. "But he wasn't lying. He knew he wasn't good for Mom, he just couldn't help it, and I don't think she couldn't help it either. It's pretty tragic really. Dad was so easy. It's embarrassing, you know? You don't think it's genetic, do you?"

"No," Jarod told her. He couldn't ever imagine Lyle being easy, but if Silvana said so, he wasn't inclined to disagree. It wasn't exactly something he wanted to think about. Parker had never been easy, but all comparisons between the two were moot anyway.

The Parker he knew wasn't easy, in any case. Young Miss Parker had been inclined to bouts of romantic escapism, but that was before Catherine's "suicide", and what little girl didn't yearn to believe in true love?

Bobby, Jarod was wholly sold, had totally been easy. From what Gloria had told him, he'd been happy to be easy for her, but Bobby hadn't been exactly sane and Gloria had been a teenage girl with zero conception of mental illness but plenty of romantic angst. Bobby had obviously had the girl well fooled, and probably himself too. Jarod thought he had a pretty good handle on the boy's personality now, and he could say with certainty that Bobby had not been his age mentally. Though he'd probably thought himself pretty spiffy, Gloria had been light years ahead of him in that regard. It seemed it was only Gloria's good luck that Bobby hadn't decided she'd been using him, along with his Dad and Jimmy, or else things might have ended a whole lot uglier for her, and the town of Misery. The accent she'd picked up from her Mexican immigrant parents might have helped, though. Lyle had always liked women with accents, so maybe that was something he'd picked up from Bobby. Unfortunately for those girls, he hadn't liked them enough to spare them their lives. Maybe Lyle had realised the girl had been using him after all, but had been too cowardly to bring the issue up with her and get it out of his system? He probably hadn't fancied her calling the cops on him, or the FBI. Then again, knowing Gloria, she might have pulled a shotgun on him herself.

When he finally dragged himself out of his thoughts, it was to find that Silvie had fallen asleep on the couch, her head rested on his shoulder.

He threw Sydney a _Typical!_ look, and stood up to help Silvie off to bed. She was heavier than expected, so he left her on the couch instead and went in search of something to cover her up with, a blanket or throw.

* * *

On Friday, Parker went to Raines's house alone. Oliver had said he had business to attend to and had hit the door before she could open her mouth to protest. She thought it had something to do with the fact that she'd told him to back off with the kids when he'd thought he could just step in and take Lyle's place, but she was over trying to fight with him over it. If he didn't want to come, it was probably for the best.

Sauntering into the lounge room, she saw William typing on a laptop. He made her want to grit her teeth and slink out of the room, the way he typed. His eight-going-on-nine-year-old daughter, Eddie, could have typed faster. "What are you working on?" she asked, leaning against the door frame, but he just waved a hand her way, as though to dismiss her.

"Billy!"

"Leave me alone, Little Cat. I'm thinking. I can't think with you hanging over my shoulder."

She laughed sarcastically. "Hanging over your shoulder?"

He scratched his arm. Apparently it was becoming a habit. It looked uncharacteristically red.

"Stop scratching," she told him. "You're making me itchy. Where are the kids at?"

"Backyard."

"Are you supposed to be supervising them?"

"No. The minion has it. Leave me alone, girl."

He scratched his arm again.

Parker frowned. Now that she looked more closely, it didn't just look red. It had some weird blisters on it. "The minion was donated to science, William," she told him. "Surely you haven't forgotten already? Boy, that was fast."

Raines fixed her with an odd look. "Just, go and talk to your brother. I have to finish writing this letter."

"Stop scratching."

"Make sure he's not setting something on fire, will you?"

She shrugged a shoulder, turned and sauntered out. The kids were out with their mom, Cherice. She'd left a note on the refrigerator explaining that they'd gone to the heated pool at the aquatics centre. One of Eddie's school friends was having her birthday party there.

Parker was sitting back to drink her coffee when William appeared in the kitchen, scratching the back of his neck.

"If you've a moment, Cat, I'd like to ask you something."

"Don't call me that," she mouthed, but he was busy pouring himself a coffee and didn't notice. "Ask me what?" she asked.

"The young man we met with last week. I don't suppose you happen to recall his name?"

"Nope, I don't," she said.

He turned and offered her another odd look. "Are you feeling yourself, Catherine?"

"Nope, I'm not."

He crossed to the table and frowned at her assessingly. "Well, what's the matter?"

"I'm not Catherine," she told him bluntly. "My mom was Catherine, and you killed her."

He laughed. "What are you talking about, woman? Are you sure you're feeling well? You sound rather odd, to me."

"I sound the way I always sound," she returned. "Why are you scratching your neck now? And why do you have that weird thing on your arm?"

"Melody?"

"Yes, finally!" She was so relieved he'd stopped calling her Catherine she didn't even snap at him for using her first name. It was a moment before she noticed he was frightened, actually frightened. "Why do you have that weird thing on your arm?" she repeated, a little too desperately for her liking.

"It's negative feedback," he told her, all too calmly. "I think it's time."

"What?" She shook her head sharply. "You- you haven't Healed anyone for years! There's nothing wrong with you! I don't understand!"

"I'm sorry, Mel," he said.

"No! Not you, too! No!" She shook her head. "I need you! You're my father! You can't- you can't go! You can't leave me!"

"I can't stop it, Mel," he told her. "It's not something I can control. It's just how I was made."

"No! If you change, you'll have to leave! You don't want to leave Cherice and the kids. I know you don't!"

"It's out of my hands, Melody," he replied sadly. Then he frowned. "I have to- I'm going to telephone Michelle. She might remember the young fellow's name. She has a good memory for these things." He wandered away, leaving Parker to stare after him.

This could not be happening, damn it!

She sat down at the kitchen table and tried not to cry. Then she took out her phone and dialled Lyle's number. No, he couldn't answer it, but she knew she'd still get Voicemail. Denis had let her have his stuff, after he'd been taken away, and she'd decided to keep his phone, just because. She waited for the phone to ring out until it clicked over to Voicemail and Lyle said, "You've reached Lyle Parker. He can't come to the phone right now. Alien abduction is not suspected. You might want to leave a message after the tone, but remember, the aliens could well be listening."

Parker laughed, half choking on her tears, and set her phone down on the kitchen table. "You're Voicemail message sucks," she told Lyle's Voicemail inbox. "You should seriously update it. You could say something like: The aliens weren't scared off by my pretty boy looks. I don't understand why not, but heck. Major bind! Please do send help, as long as it's not Jarod. If it's Jarod, I'd rather the aliens probed me. To death!"

She had a good laugh for a moment, before she frowned. "Now look what you made me say! God, your creepiness is rubbing off on me. I'm hanging up now, if you don't mind." She pressed the End Call button and sat back in her chair, morose.

She stood up and stalked to the fridge, pulling the door open and staring inside. There had to be something there she could eat. Spying a large bowl of fresh fruit salad, she grabbed that and shut the fridge door. Just before she stalked back to the kitchen table, she snatched the musical card off the top of the fridge, the one Lyle had gotten Eddie for her eighth birthday, and listened to some uncool pop music from the Sixties whilst mindlessly chomping on Cherice's fruit salad.

* * *

Sitting in a diner somewhere in Minnesota, Jarod dialled a number on his phone and listened to it ringing, a scowl forming on his face. He didn't know why Parker hadn't cancelled the number yet, but if it hadn't become a convenient number on which to contact her, he would have been irked enough to hack the mobile company's system and cancel it himself. Right now, though, it seemed Parker wasn't answering her phone. He was about to hang up when he realised he was yet to hear Lyle's Voicemail message, assuming he had one, hoping it didn't end up being Frankie telling him to buzz off. Sadly, that would actually be funny, and Jarod didn't much feel like laughing right now. He was pissed off that Lyle's daughter – his niece – was such a bean.

Finally, he got Voicemail, and Lyle said, "You've reached Lyle Parker. He can't come to the phone right now. Alien abduction is suspected. You might want to leave a message after the tone, but remember, the aliens could well be listening."

Jarod laughed, shaking his head. "Jarod, why the hell are you laughing?" He managed to regain some semblance of seriousness before he said, "I'm disappointed. I thought you might have had Cox tell me to buzz off and leave a message already because talking on phones and driving at the same time is against the law and, strangely, running stuff over is also against the law. Unless it's Director Peel."

Jarod sighed. "Can't win 'em all, I guess." He called the number again.

"What, loser?!"

Jarod pulled a face.

Parker sniffed. "Ol, this isn't you, is it?"

"It's Jarod," Jarod told her. "Not to worry, Miss Parker. Have you got a cold?"

"No. Shut up, nosy. I'm perfectly fine. Have you got a bloody cold?"

"No. I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

She sniffed again. "Did you hear Lyle's stupid Voicemail message?"

"Oh, did I ever!" He laughed. "I thought he liked the aliens. Aren't they his family or something?"

"He wishes. The aliens are way sexier than him."

Jarod tried not to make a face, but that had been a pretty freaky comment, all in all.

"Nicky's lucky his dad's not some idiot like Raines."

"What's he done now?"

"He's an idiot. He hasn't done anything."

"Okay."

"Shut up. He was always an idiot. Like you don't agree with me."

"Oh, I do agree."

"Cherice is evil. Raines can't even see it, but she's really evil."

"Why's that?"

"Her fruit salad is evil."

"What's wrong with her fruit salad?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, Boy Wonder! It's really nice. Too nice!"

"Hmm, well, that is rather evil, isn't it?"

"Don't mock me, Jarod!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Parker."

She snorted, and hung up on him. When he rang back, she didn't pick up. He ended the call before he had to hear Lyle's atrocious Voicemail a second time. He didn't need to imagine Emily finding something like that amusing. Sure, he'd made a promise with himself that his matchmaking days were over, but if he had to listen to Lyle's crappy Voicemail message one more time, all bets were off!

2.

A couple of days ago, Oliver had met up with Mia at a place they both knew in Wilmington. She'd ridden her bike there, and brought a picnic basket with sandwiches. Dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans shorts and a slogon-slapped-across-the-front T-shirt despite the cool weather, her wavy blonde hair flitting about her face, she'd reminded him of how she'd been when they'd first met, all those years ago, when she'd been a normal girl and not a model and celebrity. Back then, she'd been 21 and he 47, a lot younger than he was now. She'd come into his store to buy one of those teddy bears with the hidden cameras in their eye, and as a bunch of his staff had been off sick and he was waiting for a phone call he really didn't want to take to come in, he'd decided to get up and out of his office and tend to the customers, hoping it might alleviate some of his stress. And then he'd seen Mia.

He knew that she was seeing someone new now, that she'd finally decided he was too old and too boring and just not prime beau material any longer. He'd never gone clubbing with her, had never liked the idea of flaunting it for the paparazzi, but a couple of times since her dad's divorce from his cheating second-wife (Mia's step-mom), he'd had to bail her out of some nightclub drunk and not too well put-together anymore. She'd sit slumped in her seat in some booth in a diner he'd taken her to, not even remotely interested in her coffee, wishing she could just puke her guts up instead (all over him, 'cause apparently, though she'd called him to help her out, he was a total scum bag and the lowest of the low and probably a child abuser, too). He never took her words seriously, it was just that she wasn't feeling herself (a combination of the raving, the booze and possibly even some drugs thrown into the mix).

Sometimes she'd even be spitting out her entire vocabulary of obscenities to him, making him glad he'd chosen an out of the way booth, or some diner where the staff weren't really all that attentive or there wasn't a whole lot of customers, for whatever reason, and she'd still be trying to play footsies with him under the table. He'd never allowed himself to play along with her, in those instances. She wasn't Mia, then, rather she was MIA, missing in action.

It wasn't until 2008, when two days before her 22nd birthday, her step-mom had stalked her and cornered her alone on campus one night and beat the frigging crap out of her for what she saw as Mia's deliberate "ruining" of her marriage to Mia's dad, that he realised he was in love with Mia. He'd stayed with her the entire night in the hospital until her real dad had shown up and he'd had to make his exit.

That night, he'd actually cried himself to sleep, with the help of a lot of wine and not a lot else (dinner included). Mia was a good kid; she'd gotten her act together, she was studying now, trying to make something of her life, and then her step-mom had to come looking for revenge on Mia when the person she should have been looking at was herself.

All he wanted was for Mia to be okay.

And then, on her 22nd birthday, when she'd still been in hospital, she'd found out she was sick, not just beat-up sick, but really sick, and she would need an organ transplant. It was her kidneys.

Mia was in hospital for a long, long time. She had a rare blood type, so it wasn't going to be easy to find a donor whose kidney might work for her, and the waiting list was understandably long, so all they could do was wait. All of this, Mia somehow managed to tell him via e-mail. He hadn't been to see her ever since she'd been admitted to hospital and her dad had shown up. The fact was, he wasn't her dad. He wasn't anyone to her. He had no right caring for Mia the way he did. So he'd stayed away. And then Mia had tracked down his work e-mail and started to write him.

The first time he unsuspectingly clicked on her e-mail and read her message, he'd been half an hour away from a major meeting. It really hadn't helped steady his hands, or his current mood, but by the end of the meeting he'd realised what he had to do. Mia and he shared the same rare blood type. He couldn't let Mia go on like this, languishing in hospital, he would have to find some way to help her, to get her well again so she could move on with her life, do the things she really wanted to do.

By Christmas of 2008, Mia was a happy and healthy young woman again. Her studies were going really well and she was excited for the direction her future was taking. Things were really starting to work out for her, and her dad had found himself a new woman. A really nice lady, and a nurse. Her dad told her they'd actually met because of her, in the elevator when she'd been unwell in hospital, and Mia was only very happy for her dad. It was sorta rushed, but they were even engaged to be married.

But the reason Mia had come by, truthfully, was not to give him some tacky cologne, but to thank him for saving her life (twice: once when he found her all beat up at college, and a second time when she'd been sick in hospital). She hadn't forgotten, too, that she still had that old black-and-white camera he'd leant her and she'd promised to return, but her place was a real mess and she'd have to sort things out before she could even hope to find it. She was really sorry.

It was cold, but it wasn't snowing just at that moment, so it was probably tolerable, from Mia's point of view, that she wasn't wearing a jacket or a coat, but just a knitted pullover with a reindeer motif stitched onto the front. Heck, the Umitech parking lot where she'd found him (working late on Christmas Day) wasn't the most glam of places to begin with, so there was really no need to dress up.

Handing him the cologne, complete with wrapping paper and a plastic bow on top, she'd leant in to kiss him on the cheek, quietly but sincerely wishing him a "very Merry Christmas!"

Then she turned away and walked right back out of his life, just as the snow was starting to fall and everything was perfect. He stood out in the cold for a long time, watching the snow fall, not dazed, but unwilling to let go of that moment, the moment when Mia had thanked him, honestly, as one person to another, and walked away, boldly, happily, into her bright and hopeful future.

Struggling to think back to if he'd ever been this happy for someone before, his mind drew a blank. It was just Mia, his perfect, wonderful Mia. He didn't expect he would see her again after that, except, and he was really hoping here, for the odd article in the newspapers or some fancy magazine talking of how she'd succeeded through hard work, dedication to her vision, and perseverance, and her lovely personality.

A year later, Mia's career was taking off, and her father and his new wife were dead at the hands of her father's mentally unstable ex-wife, who'd since been released from prison for her attack on Mia.

The press were all over that story and Mia's agent loved it, but Mia just wanted her dad back. Outwardly, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was coping admirably, but all it was was a brave face. Underneath, Mia was falling to pieces, and she didn't know how to put herself back together again. She had no idea where the pieces went anymore, or what should happen after she'd assembled them all back into place once more.

Two months after her father had passed away, Mia turned up in the Umitech parking lot, drunk and throwing her guts up all over Oliver's car. When he arrived and found her like that, she begged him not to cart her off to hospital, and asked that he just take her home – not to her home, but to his. She just wanted to sleep. She was tired of the pretence, of the front she had been working so, so hard to maintain, and she didn't want the world to know that she'd cracked under the pressure and slipped up. She just wanted a break. This one frickin' time, she wanted a break. And some sleep. Some proper sleep.

He didn't argue with her, or even complain about the mess, or that he was older than her and when he said he thought she should go to hospital he wasn't just airing his thoughts, he was making a statement. Instead, he took her home and let her sleep, just as she'd asked.

In the morning, she drifted back out of his life again – in her own cleanly laundered clothes – just as if she'd never been there, along with the crocheted throw he'd used to cover her during the night, though the central heating and the ill-fitting clothes he'd lent her had been sufficiently warm so that she wouldn't freeze.

He cleaned his car, and went back to work, not even once suspecting that whilst he'd been busy with breakfast Mia might have been looking through his things for his date of birth.

She showed up on his doorstep on the night of his 50th birthday, an expensive bottle of real French champagne, adorned with a cheap plastic bow, in hand, and a warm smile alight on her face. That was the night, after much drinking on his part (too much), and very little on hers (still too much, the way he saw it), they kissed for the first time, and invariably wound up going to bed together.

In the morning, he caught Mia crying alone in the bathroom, but he retreated quietly before she could notice him, wishing he had a gun so he could shoot himself dead (possibly after finding somewhere remote where no one would ever find his body so Mia would not ever have to hear his name, or read it, again).

For three months afterward, Mia had continued to come around and see him. She was a sweet girl, and he'd been afraid she was trying to replace her dad with him, had been afraid of messing her up, because fathers and daughters did not sleep together, or kiss each other on the mouth. She would bring him glossy hard-backed books of gallery exhibitions she'd been to, and tell him all of her funny stories, or her "crazy, silly" interpretations of this artwork or that artwork, and they would laugh.

He did enjoy her company, and he never caught her crying alone in the bathroom again, so he hoped that meant she enjoyed his company in return, but he knew it wasn't right and it could never last. As it turned out, he was right. Mia was called away to Europe for work, and then for travel, adventure, and she landed a couple of stellar advertising campaigns, all with high monetary compensations attached to them.

When she returned from Europe, she started to go partying again, and then clubbing. She never drunk too much, but she was often the one left to pick up the pieces after one of her friends had done something "incredibly nonsensical". She still went clubbing though, and some of her friends drifted away, to other projects or rehab programs. Her work was going well, and she had the money, the looks, and the talent.

Oliver tried his hardest not to miss her, when he saw a photograph of her somewhere, or caught, in glancing, a few words of an article about her, but he still missed her, each and every time. Horribly and inconsolably. It was, he decided, his punishment. It never drove him to crazy antics or crazy measures, but it invariably led him to reject the dating scene or anything do with going out, for pleasure and not just business.

The next time he saw her, in person, was much later, on a night out that was meant to be strictly business (but in a relaxed, fun setting). He'd left Umitech (the company viewed him as stale, old-fashioned and utterly non-progressive) and was in Dover, trying out for a new job with a place called the Centre, and he'd been asked to join the recruiter at some fashion event or other. He hadn't even thought about the possibility that models might be there (to model the fashions), or that Mia might possibly be among them.

And then he'd seen her and everything else, including whatever it was the recruiter had been saying to him, had disappeared from his radar completely. All he'd seen, been able to take any notice of whatsoever, was Mia. It didn't matter what she was wearing, it was just Mia. Mia, from start to finish.

He'd left thinking that he'd blown all chances of landing the job, and probably indelibly freaked Mia out (for the rest of her life). When, on the way back to his car, he'd heard fast footsteps, he thought it might be a mugger, but it was Mia, running towards him in her funny, high-priced high heels, her blonde hair bouncing about her face and shoulders. Mia, with the very sad eyes. His Mia.

She didn't give him a chance to utter a single word before she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth. For a long while, he resisted the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her back, but then, finally, he gave in. Mia, her fancy clothes and expensive, designer perfume were pressed back against the car, and he kissed her like he had never kissed her before, like he was honestly, truthfully, forever in love with her. And he was, as he'd always been.

When he finally set her on her feet, Mia was shaking and her eyes were bright. He wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her, just have her near, whisper to her that she was safe, he would keep her safe, no matter what. He couldn't even break his gaze from her soft, shimmering eyes.

She spoke in a whisper, afraid her voice might break. "Why did you run away from me?"

It wasn't her voice that broke, though, it was his heart. He shook his head, and said the first thing he thought he could stand to say, however cheap and flimsy. "I don't know." Not the truth, but he could never have said, "You should run. Run and don't look back. Don't come back. You don't know it, but when you're with me, I think you're the only reason my heart goes on beating. Why? Why, Mia? Why do you keep coming back?"

She touched the side of her neck, her small, perfectly-manicured hand shaking. He thought she might have wanted to touch him, to slap him perhaps, but she had refrained, out of kindness. She probably still thought he'd only ever treated her with kindness, so there was no precedence for her to treat him otherwise. She didn't know that he thought about her all the time, that he dreamed about her, about her incredible hazel eyes that seemed, to him, to hold entire worlds, entire universes, inside them. Or the soft, warm touch of her skin against his, as life-giving as breath itself. She didn't know how crazy he was.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice a little steadier. She could handle this, a normal, everyday conversation with an old acquaintance.

"I left Umitech. I'm looking for a new job."

She seemed confused by this news. "Why did you leave?"

He didn't say that it was the company who was bored of _him_. "Just bored, I guess."

"You were good at your job."

He shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about it any more. "I see you're well. And also very good at your job." He managed a genuine smile. "Do you think your people might be missing you? Wondering where you've gone?"

"Probably."

He nodded, touched her arm briefly. "I'll walk you back. Come on. You don't want to miss the party."

They walked in silence, their footsteps not quite in sync with one another's, not quite as close together as they might once have walked, and when one of Mia's "people" appeared at the door, bursting over the threshold with a look of worry plastered to her face, she didn't even see Oliver, it was just Mia. Incomparable, lovely Mia. Just as it should be.

Mia was dragged away in a flurry of half worried, half excited words and Oliver could only smile vaguely. If Mia had wanted to say something to him, to perhaps wish him a good night and good luck on finding work, she did not. She was pulled away and disappeared amongst the masses in short order.

Oliver returned to his car feeling empty, and wishing he hadn't kissed Mia back. It had been a bad move, for both of them. He could not stop thinking of Mia, the whole way back to his hotel, of how he had let her be pulled away from him without a single word himself, the light of his life, his world, his universe.

* * *

Mia didn't ask how he'd come by her number, she didn't even say that he was almost too adorable to her to look at without wanting to kiss him, or throw him down on the picnic blanket and ravish him. Nice girls didn't do things like that, much less think them.

She just said, "Hello, Oliver," like she might have done a thousand times before.

"Hi, Mia."

"I brought sandwiches, in case you're hungry."

He smiled. "That was very thoughtful of you, but I don't think I'll be staying."

"You sounded insistent on the phone. I thought you really must want to see me."

"And I do."

"But there is a 'but'."

He stepped closer suddenly and she noticed that he was still wearing the same brand of cologne she'd given him as a gift all those years ago. For some reason, knowing that he was about to say something important, it made her very, very sad. She kept her sadness hidden away, though. She had become very good at doing so, and there was no reason not to showcase her abilities to their best everyday. Even today.

"I heard that you're doing well with your young man... Daniels... That you're happy, together... I... I, ah, I came to ask if you... If you truly are happy, Mia? If... if... Daniels... makes you happy?"

Mia couldn't take her eyes away from his, couldn't even speak to help him out each time he struggled to find Russo's name and came up blank, and was too kind to find some suitable substitute she might correct him on, such as Russell or Rusty or the like. She wanted to say, "You make me happy. You always did. I really only want you, nobody else." But that wasn't what he'd asked.

She nodded silently, and then, finally, she was able to speak the words. "Yes, he does make me happy." But not as happy as you, she added silently.

Oliver's smile was enough to make her want to cry, and she remembered, with overwhelming regret, the first time they'd made love. In the morning, she'd stood in his bathroom and cried. She'd cried because she'd only just realised that she loved Oliver. And now, now she wanted to cry because she hadn't told him then, but she so deeply wished she had.

She didn't care how old he was, or how plain and un-famous he was. He was her Oliver, and she was his Mia, but now that was all over. All in the past.

Russo did make her happy, and he was young and flashy and famous. But a lot of boys could have made her happy, and had done so, for a time. She was not the type to sleep around, but she did date. And now, there was Russo.

"Won't you sit with me and have something to eat?" she asked. "To celebrate? I made the sandwiches myself." She hadn't wanted to say that, but it seemed an appropriate selling point, at this moment, and the only way she could see to get Oliver to stay. She really wanted him to stay, to have some memory of him, of the two them, that wasn't only bitter-sweet.

One last memory.

So they ate the sandwiches, and Oliver walked back with her to the little cabin where she was staying, and, for the second and last time in her life, she watched him walk away from her. But this time she didn't go to him.

She remained steadfast, just as she'd taught herself, and wished she could have been proud, at that moment, rather than sad.

* * *

Checking the fridge for the fruit salad she had, in her haste, forgotten to bring to Eddie's school mate's birthday party, Cherice sighed, and closed the door. The children, save for two-year-old Rebel Agnes, who was out cold, were telling their father all about the awesome birthday party they'd just got back from. Joining her family in the lounge room, Cherice didn't bother to ask what had happened to the fruit salad, or why there was a laptop on the coffee table. William, she knew, wasn't the most tech savvy of people, and, when he'd still been working for the great and glorious Centre, he'd had the habit of forgetting his password and locking himself out of his employee space. He'd just been lucky Lyle had been around to bail him out, klutz as he was. Like a puppy, the boy had been entirely too loyal for his own good, or so they'd all thought. Cherice hadn't trusted him from the beginning, but the truth hadn't turned out to be anything like she'd been expecting.

Lyle had had a mouth and an amazing affinity for badly thought out comments, a fair few of them even directed at her, but she'd heard he was one of them country people (and she was too), so she'd tried her best to forgive him, whenever he overstepped the mark – by accident, of course – though the truth was, she hadn't felt threatened by him or his comments. She'd mistakenly believed herself somehow capable of seeing right through him and what she'd imagined herself to see, whilst potentially dangerous to others, hadn't seemed all that dangerous to her. Sometimes, she'd even fancied herself to have some mysterious, unknowable power over him, probably stemming from the fact that she'd once dated James (his then father, and boss), and then wound up marrying William (his unofficial father, if he had truthfully been who they'd all been saying he was, and Pet Master).

Even when they'd learnt he was an Empath, she hadn't suspected anything more deep than that. She had successfully staved off all thoughts to do with his knowing of her secret agenda, working for the Tams. She wasn't there for him, to murder him and avenge Mimi Cooper, and finally, forever more, set her soul free. She wasn't a killer, she just collected information and handed it on.

Now that she knew that he may have been working for Tam, even then, she supposed it made a certain kind of sense. Perhaps he'd even been on her side, in a way.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she'd decided that she could settle for that, in favour of all manner of unpleasantries. At least, for now.

Now, she had a feeling that William missed his little minion. For all of his talk of missing his wife, Edna, whom he'd murdered, he seemed to have put aside his misery over Edie's loss. She would have thought that a happy thing, but now he had his minion to lament over, even if he hadn't really been his son, and he took absolutely no interest in the man who was.

Still, she wasn't too angry over it, just sad. William had known Lyle for a long time, since he'd been a boy. May have even imagined himself wanting to help him, a long time ago. So it was sad; for her and for William, and for the boy he hadn't saved.

He was smiling at the children though, and she decided (again) not to ask about the fruit salad or get huffy over the fact he hadn't put the washing out on the line, as he'd said he would.

"Parker and I took it to the laundromat. It looked as though it might rain, so we decided not to chance it. Everything is back in its respective places now, however. We had fun trying to work out where everything went, but we got there in the end. Parker, mostly. She's a very clever girl, when she wants to be. Much more clever than I."

"Miss Parker?" Cherice found that hard to believe, but perhaps Parker had come around and agreed, on the spur of the moment, to help out around the place. That would explain, at least in part, where some of the fruit salad had gone. But William, giving Parker a compliment? Too weird. Maybe he was suffering minion withdrawal, or something, but in trying to emulate his sad, ill-fated minion, and eliminate the need for him to actually be there, he'd failed to grasp the creepy nature of Lyle's comments concerning Miss Parker?

William smiled unsteadily, and Cherice told the kids to go to their rooms and have a look if their things had been returned to them correctly. Thinking that an exciting adventure, Eddie promptly took hold of her younger brothers' hands and set off to do just that, with a farewell of, "Tally ho, chums!"

"Tally ho!"

Cherice rolled her eyes, grinning. "You shouldn't be teaching her such strange words, you know," she told William humorously. "People will think she's speaking in tongues."

He gestured a hand dismissively. "Mmm. I suppose you have a point, my dear. I hear the party went well."

"The kids liked it, yeah! Me: my head is _still_ ringing! You have fun with the washing?"

"Oh yes! Tremendous fun!"

She smiled. "Good, good. How is Miss Parker?"

"Well, I think."

"Ah, well, fingers crossed. You can ask, but they're still at liberty to lie. Through their teeth!"

"I didn't ask."

Humorously, she replied, "Oops."

He shrugged.

She nodded, sighing. "I'll... I'll go check on the kids."

"Thank you, Cherice."

She turned back around, close by the door. "For what?"

"For being there, for being a good mother. For being yourself!" He waved a hand. "I... I don't know what I'm saying. Housework confuses me. Off... off you go then..."

She waved, with a grin. "Off I go then." She had a feeling William had been drinking something a little stronger than coffee, to get though the torture of the dreaded housework, probably.

She smiled when she joined the children in their bedroom. "Having fun, kids?"

"Everything is in order, Captain," Eddie reported smartly, standing up straight.

"Very good, chum."

* * *

After the hassle of the party, Cherice would have been content to order takeaway for dinner, but the food at the party had been more or less insubstantial, so she decided to make something proper instead, feeling pleased that William had actually noticed (and complimented her) on her responsible, parental skills. It was silly, and she'd always thought of herself as one of those women who needed neither a man's approval nor validation to get the job done and still feel herself as having done something worthwhile, as being worthwhile, herself, but it was nice, just once, to hear William say it. As crappy as he was himself, as a husband, the second time around, he'd obviously committed himself to at least trying to be a good father, if nothing else. She couldn't be entirely bitter about that, much as she might have preferred to be, in the past, for the sake of pursuing and honouring, airing "the honest, unadulterated truth". She had realised that being miserable just because she could, wasn't, in and of itself, all that smart a move, and it did not lend itself to quality of life, for herself or any others.

So, seeing as William was making an effort on one front, she was also making an effort herself, to refrain from hating him merely because she could, and probably should have, because he did not make her happy the way a husband was meant, in theory, to make his wife happy, because they were not "in love" and never would be, and he, he had had the ridiculous audacity to suggest she look elsewhere for that sort of thing, and all with his blessing, of course.

But she wasn't angry about it, wasn't going to start another shouting match, yelling, "I married you, you fool! I married you because I thought we could bloody well work on it! I thought we had a chance of that, at the barest minimum!" She hadn't married him for any such reasons, and when she'd thought of their marriage, in the past, she'd seen herself as making a great sacrifice; it had been he who had thought they might work on it and find something salvageable, and she who had erected wall after wall and thrown all of his efforts back in his face, all the while merrily, spitefully hanging onto her anger and deep hatred and telling him that he was evil and how could she even conceive of caring for someone such as him, let alone of falling in love with him.

The anger and bitterness and blackness she felt, it was all hers. It all came from within her, from inside her, and, in the past, it had slowly but surely worked itself out into the light of day, ruining what might have otherwise been a perfectly good (argument-free) day. Today, she had decided to put aside her numerous vendettas against her husband in favour of a loving, constructive, productive household in which their children might grow up, not a war-zone.

And she felt very proud of herself, despite a lingering edge of sadness she refused to let bloom into all-out bitterness or destructive rage. It was enough to know that the edge was still there, that she hadn't surrendered completely, but that she was, instead, doing a good thing, an honourable thing. In a sense, she felt a little empowered by it, by knowing that she was doing good work, and sometimes she was even happy, not because of someone else, but because of herself, because she wasn't a bad person, as she'd often feared, but because she was a good, honourable, caring person, and even though she was not loved by her husband, she was deserving of love, and there were others who saw that, who loved her for her.

She set about preparing dinner, happy that she'd actually be able to have something proper to eat, along with the kids. Though they didn't mind junk food and party food, she understood that it wasn't meant to be filling, or wholesome; a snack, not a meal.

* * *

William didn't join them for dinner, but instead said that he wasn't hungry and would have something a little later, if he felt hungry then.

Eddie, who loved her father perhaps a little too much emotionally – Cherice foresaw teething problems later on down the track when it came time to leave for college, but that was a long way off – looked a little put-out, but when dinner arrived in front of her she forgot about her earlier glumness, smiling up at her mom. "Thanks, Mom. It looks fantastic."

She had, Cherice had no trouble believing, picked up that particular trait from Lyle, deciding that giving people compliments they felt they deserved was actually a neat way of keeping things running smoothly, and very much in your favour. Not that Cherice doubted that Eddie meant it, but Eddie, in her younger years, had been playful and outgoing and very much focussed on Eddie, and Eddie's view of things, and of course, her younger siblings and her dad. Mom was just mom and it was Mom's duty to do what Mom did, because that was what moms did, and kids didn't have to say thank you because, well, that just wasn't how it went down. But Eddie had learnt to say thank you, because it was nice, and because the simple act of putting something like that into words made it that much more powerful, made it something real in her mind, and helped her to figure out, for herself, how the world worked, without someone else merely telling her it was so and expecting her to agree. This way, Eddie got to process it, and most of all, she got to think about the person she wanted to be, not the person someone else wanted her to be. If she wanted to give someone a compliment, the avenue was there, if she didn't, or she didn't think they didn't particularly deserve a good word, that avenue was there too. This, Eddie had learned, was a vital step in the process of growing up, and she was very happy to take that step.

Cherice was happy for her too, in spite of everything. Eddie was a good girl, and just maybe, she would outgrow her inordinate attachment to her father before it came back to bite her on the ass.

* * *

Later, after the kids had been put to bed and were hopefully sleeping, she found William sitting out on the back step, looking up at the stars, in all likelihood. Why he hadn't become someone who worked in the field, she had no idea; he certainly seemed interested in it enough, but perhaps it was just a fond childhood hobby. She didn't recall any of her own fond childhood hobbies, but she supposed there had to be a few, somewhere, deep down inside. One of which, she hoped, wasn't bullying.

Taking a seat on the step beside William, she touched his arm, only for a moment. She didn't like to touch him a lot these days; her new, forgiving attitude would try to tell her she, too, could make a good thing out of that, if she handled it right, and sometimes she was actually tempted, but it wasn't smart, going down that road with someone who'd openly told her that he didn't have room for her in his heart, that he'd tried and had failed to love her.

"The kids are in bed."

As soon as she said it, she realised she'd designated it the wrong tone of voice completely, because somehow it had come out sounding like a come-on when she really hadn't meant it to. It was a statement, and if she'd been thinking he might offer her some praise for this, or a small smile, than that was forgivable, because, yes, a part of learning forgiveness was also about forgiving one's self, where appropriate, but now she realised she probably needed to excuse herself for a moment to slap herself. She was not a very grown-up woman if she could not control her tone when thinking things that ran contrary to what she wanted to say. Though she'd always found it easy enough in the past, she also hadn't thought it "wholesome" or "honest" to lie about things, or people, she found vile and reprehensible. She hadn't seen any need to hide her disgust, but she knew she could hide her feelings because she'd been able to hide her anxiety and fear of discovery and persecution perfectly fine. But apparently, there were some things she hadn't learned to hide half as well as she thought she had.

It was a pity, but a good lesson nonetheless.

William didn't say anything, just kept staring up at the sky, and she realised she probably would have been angry if he did, would have thought him mockingly thanking her, the way a person thanked someone who did what they did because it was their job and there really wasn't any need for a thank you, but, oh, it was done was it?, well, good-O, and wasn't there something else to be done?; oh yes, there was. It never ended, was always the same, but heck, if getting paid wasn't enough incentive, a little lie, or a comment of overly exaggerated positivity dropped here and there wasn't such a taxing thing if it kept the machine working.

Of course, there was the possibility that William hadn't heard her, or had ignored her, quite on purpose, but the forgiving person inside of her was not prepared to go down that road tonight. The fight was not worth it.

"Good night." She stood up.

"Good night."

Rolling her eyes, she walked back inside. Heck, she hoped sarcasm was still allowed, because sometimes she needed something to temper the urge to throttle the man.

* * *

William refrained from saying any more, when Cherice left to go back inside. He didn't feel hungry, though it probably would have hurt to have dinner, but his hands were shaking too much and if he'd done that, the kids, and Cherice, would have noticed. He couldn't afford for them to notice. He had his plan all put together and it was going to work out.

He was glad Cherice had left now, because he had rather wanted to hug her and say something stupid, as he invariably did when it came to her, but he had done good in resisting. She had left him alone, to his plan, which was thankfully running as expected. If only all of his plans had worked half as well, but that was all in the past, just as Cherice and the children would also be, very soon.

When the kids were asleep, actually, he went inside to be with them for a while. They were his children, and he didn't want to leave them, but neither could he stay. He shouldn't have had to leave them, and Cherice, but he had to, no choice. If he stayed, bad things would happen. Bad things that would only add to the bad things that had already happened, and would keep on happening. Bad things he could prevent, by doing this simple, rather unkind thing.

So he would be a bad person, because it was for a good purpose. If it was possible, as he knew it was, he had an obligation to try. The boy had tried, fell down, got back up again, tried again. Sometimes, it had actually worked. Now, it was his turn to try again. He had thought about it, and thought about it, and the time for thinking was done. It was time he did something, before time ran out.

The children were well, and sleeping happily, so he left them. This was the very last part, or the second last part, before he walked out the door and didn't come back, and he was hoping it wouldn't be as bad as he'd imagined it was going to be, hoping Cherice wouldn't choose to confront him and make it worse.

He hadn't told Mel about his plan. Why make her complicit? Just so she could feel bad too? He didn't think so. Besides, he didn't want her to try and stop him, to spoil it all, or have to lie for the rest of her life on pain of the children's welfare. This way was better.

Cherice was lying in bed when he came into the room, but he could tell she wasn't asleep. Wanted him to think she was, but he could almost always tell. He was glad. This was how the plan was supposed to go.

Collecting his cell phone from the bureau where he'd left it, where he sometimes did leave it, but had done so strategically this time, he walked to the window. Outside, it was dark, but he could still make out the lilac tree in front of what had once been Annie's old bedroom. He didn't want to look at that tree, but he knew he wouldn't have another chance. Not any more. He had to take the one chance he had, sad as it might make him.

He glanced behind him (to be sure Cherice was sleeping), and dialled a number on his cell phone, ending the call before it actually picked up. Though he'd planned the general gist of what he might say, putting the conversation into words was actually harder, and rather more painful, than he had hoped it would be. He tried to sound authentic, however:

"Hey. Hey. How are things?

"Good, good. That's very good.

"Yes, I've made up my mind.

"Well, ah, I have decided you were right.

"Yes, very right. A word to the wise, however, darling, _gloating_ is not becoming. But...

"But... If you'll allow me to get a word in, or a few, I will forgive you. You're completely forgiven.

"No. I really mean it. I'm not just saying it to butter you up. What kind of a man do you think I am?

"Tonight. I can see you tonight.

"Too late? What _are_ you talking about, my girl? You must be drunk, though I shudder to think. Terribly, terribly.

"I will be over shortly. I love you too.

"'Don't'- What do you mean 'don't get lost'?!

"No. You're just kidding. I noticed that. Yes. Yes.

"Will you now? Well, I will be looking out for that. So, don't you be going back on your word now, will you?

"Asleep.

"Oh yes, I understand that, but she has the children to attend to, and they can rush you off your feet in no time. But yes, you're right, the party's just getting started. I will see you – at the party!"

He put his phone away, in his pocket, his heart hammering too loudly in his ears. Cherice had not leapt out of bed and attacked him. He couldn't hear her crying quietly. She had obviously been listening, but all seemed to be going according to plan. It almost seemed to good to be true.

Forcing down any misgivings he might have been having, or doubts, he walked to the wardrobe to quietly get some of his things together, reaching, at the last moment, for his old Director of Med Space pin – if he truly were leaving, he would not want to leave that behind, no matter what – and stopped at the end of the bed to afford Cherice one last look.

He couldn't wish that she might confront him, because though he might honestly had wanted her to try to stop him leaving, he would, in the end, have no choice but to leave anyway. And this way, despite the horribleness of it, was ultimately kinder.

He didn't deserve that one last look, but he took it anyway. It was what he would have done, had any of this charade been real. And then he walked to the door.

* * *

"Hey! Asshole!" She hadn't yelled, but the anger in her voice was clearly audible, and when he turned around, it was there in her eyes also. "Don't forget this!" She yanked her wedding ring off her finger and threw it at him. No, actually, not _at_ him but at the floor in front of him, so he'd have to listen to the tiny but distinctive sound it made as it hit the floor. Then maybe he'd bend down to pick it up, and she could glare at him whilst he did that, unable to defend himself from her fury, in that small moment, but merely having to suck it up and take it.

He picked her ring up off the floor and held it out to her. Not because he particularly wanted that small, agonising moment between them, where she took her ring back and their hands touched, just for a moment, but because he wanted to give her the choice of pretending she hadn't known about any of this, of pretending she hadn't known he was going to leave her and then, in anger, she'd told him to go, to get lost, she didn't want him around anymore anyway (none of them did).

Waiting for her to decide what to do – if she would take the ring or not – he took a moment to reflect on the fact that his plan had, once again, gone wrong. Despite his very best efforts, it seemed as though he was just lucky that way. Or maybe he'd inherited that from his mother, or as a consequence of being a bastard child. Heck, Mary might even have cursed him. Anything was possible, because this amount of bad luck just wasn't normal. Not normal at all.

Cherice didn't take the ring. Instead, she looked into his eyes, as if looking for a sign of weakness, or merely because she wanted him to look her in the face when he told her she wasn't good enough, would never been good enough, for him. Or perhaps she wanted him to know it was _he_ who wasn't good enough for her, for _them_, and by running away, by choosing the coward's way out, he just proved that all the more. Whatever her intentions, when she opened her mouth, her words weren't spoken in anger. "Who is she?"

She was, he reflected, Cherice. His Cherice. Difficult until the end. In short, a girl after his own heart. He couldn't help the swell of affection he felt for her then, but she'd made her choice. He quickly closed his hand and pocketed the ring she'd thrown unceremoniously at her feet. He wasn't going to fight with her, not tonight.

He was leaving, and she couldn't stop him. Preferably, he would do that before one or more of the children woke up and the whole thing became an impossible, impossible nightmare.

He shook his head, giving nothing away.

"I need you, Liam. Here, with me. And the children. _Our_ children."

He should have known she wouldn't give up just like that. She was a fighter. Always had been. And she wasn't above using dirty tactics, either, if it got results. He almost couldn't believe she'd gone there, called him that, what his Edie had used to call him, but actually, he could. He realised that the last time she'd accidentally slipped up and called him by that name hadn't been an accident at all; it had been a trial run, for this. For an eventuality just such as this.

"I don't care. I don't need you."

She tried to keep the sting of hurt from her eyes, but she failed. "William, please!"

This time, he was able to summon some measure of believable anger. "What are you asking me to do here, Cherice?" She didn't understand. She didn't understand he didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. He had _no_ choice. And he couldn't, he could never, ever tell her that. Not in so many words. He couldn't tell her how much it hurt him now to see her standing before him, asking, just asking him to think it over, no matter the reason. Just to think.

Her bottom lip shook but the shine in her eyes wasn't sad, it was something else. She straightened up and looked him square in the eye. "I can love you. I can love you as much as she can. I was wrong. I realised that tonight. We have something here, William! A family, of sorts. A... a bond. Please! Please." And then, just like that, her confidence fell away, her hope. She was leaving it up to him. If what he wanted was to be the man in this equation, the one who made the hard and fast decisions, then he could have it, he could have it all. She was giving it to him.

She got down on the floor, on her knees. "Look at me, William! Can't you see I'm doing _everything_ I can? I'm not asking you to be perfect, to change. Not anymore! I just want you here. Please. Stay with us. If you want to go to her, then go to her. But come back. At the end of the day, think about us. Remember us, your family, and come home."

He couldn't look at her, he had to look away. It was too much, this, _Cherice_, was too much. Somehow, he'd seemingly underestimated her. As usual. Because she truthfully, heartfeltly, was capable of anything. A gem.

And she made him want to cry. Or laugh. Or kiss her. Or all three.

This was not how the plan was supposed to go. He had vowed to himself that she wouldn't know how he felt, not if it meant she sacrificed her own happiness for him, not if it meant she felt beholden to him, shackled to him against her will, and now, now, he couldn't believe a word she said, desperately wanted to, in spite of his terrible plan, but could not.

She was beautiful and at the same time, utterly deadly. She took his breath away, and he would let her, for as long as she wanted, if only the children had no been involved.

She stared at him, silently pleading, silently killing him, even when he couldn't see the look in her eyes.

He could hear it, and feel it, and that was enough. Everything about her, in that moment, killed him.

He forced himself to meet her eyes, to remain resolute. Real life was not a romance novel. Every ending was not a happy ending. And he simply said, his tone brokering no room for argument, "No. We are done." And he left her there, in the hall, on her knees. Crying.

* * *

Parker reached for Lyle's cell phone, which she had studiously been ignoring for the better part of she didn't know how long, and scrolled through the missed calls log quickly, glaring at the screen the whole while, annoyed that whoever it was who'd rung the first time – and woken her up – hadn't rung back. Her curiosity, or maybe that was level of pissed-the-hell-off, was at breaking point. She wouldn't be able to sleep again until she'd found out who had been calling, and maybe yelled at them. Loudly.

With a scowl, she noticed that it had been Raines. Probably still on a bender then over the same heck thing he'd been on one for before, she thought darkly. Which was obviously why he'd rung the minion, to tell him a bedtime story or something that would make it better, or some other Tam crap he thought might help. And of course, he'd forgotten that Minion was dead, kaput, ended, off... with... the... pixies... in Wonderland.

She hit Call and glared at the wall. Oh yes, this was going to be one fun-fun-fun conversation! "The minion is kaput. You cannot call him at all hours to discuss whatever it is you two discuss. Get... over... it! He went down, like the Mir Space Station! Ka-boom! Argh! You men!"

She scowled, listening intently for a moment, wondering if she indeed had called the right number, or if she'd accidentally hit the wrong number and had been ranting at someone else, someone she was going to regret yelling at in the morning. "Raines?!"

"I can't talk to you right now, love. I can't talk to anyone."

She made a face, and couldn't help laughing. "You just did, _love_."

"Not anymore," he said, and hung up on her.

"You... little... bastard!" she growled, redialling the number, but apparently he did know how to use the phone's Off button, or else he'd ended the thing some other way, like under the back tyre of his car.

Glaring at the phone one last time, she let it drop to the floor. "Bastard!"

At least she could go back to sleep now, mystery solved.

* * *

When Cherice had finally dragged herself up off the floor, roughly wiping her tears away, she walked back to her bedroom and stood there, wanting to cry all over again. Yes, it was her bedroom now. Not theirs. Just hers.

She turned around, and walked out of the room. She couldn't sleep in this room tonight. She'd rather sleep on the couch, or even the bloody floor. Anywhere else, but not here!

* * *

In the morning, she woke up feeling sore and absolutely wretched, on the couch in the lounge room, but she didn't give herself time to think or languish, she just got up and got stuck into the rest of her day, starting with making the kids breakfast, and perhaps they would go for a walk later so that Eddie could work on her drawing.

She left the three eldest children in the kitchen eating breakfast to go and fetch their jackets and Eddie's drawing things, hoping they would like the surprise, and headed down the hall for the children's rooms with Rebel Agnes in her arms, pretending she didn't see the closed door to her own bedroom. She wasn't going to think about last night. Not now, not for as long as she bloody chose not to think about it.

Ducking into Eddie and Rebel Agnes's room first, she headed for the closet and pulled open the door, already reaching for the girls' jackets when she spied the neat stack of clothing sitting on one of the shelves, and the origami love heart sitting on top of the pile, made out of what looked like a page from a magazine that might have graced the table of some lonely, badly furnished laundromat in town.

She sunk to her knees, holding her little girl in her arms and sobbing.

* * *

Parker's eyes snapped open and she clambered out of bed, reaching for the cell phone on the floor in a desperate effort to reach it before the call redirected to Voicemail. Huffing, but grinning, the phone in her hand, she hit the button to take the call. "This is Lucy, Lyle's secretary. And no, we are not embezzling company money. We're too pretty for you to think that, so _how dare you_, sir or madam?! Now that that's understood, how may I help you today?"

"Miss Parker?" a small voice asked.

The smile wiped off her face. "This is Miss Parker. Who is speaking?"

"Eddie."

Parker shot to her feet, her expression deadly serious. "What did he do now, baby girl? You just tell big sis and she'll sort it out for you, quick as anything. No pain, no fuss. Everything is going to be all right."

"Mommy's crying and I think... I think Daddy left."

"I'm coming, baby! Just... just stay where you are, okay? Give Mom a big hug. I'm coming."

She raced out of the room, still in her pyjamas, and hurtled into the guest room, where Oliver slept. "Ol, you gotta wake up! No time to do your hair – we gotta go! Now!" Then she ran back to her room and found something half decent to wear and hit the door, a sleepy-looking Oliver following her outside to the car.

* * *

Waiting impatiently at the traffic lights, Parker turned to glance at Oliver with a dark look, and said, "Our father is insane!"

"You're telling me," Oliver replied, stifling a yawn with his hand. "What did he do?"

"Daddy's done a runner – and, damn it, alien abduction is _not_ suspected! I... don't... believe... in... aliens!"

"Is that code for something, Sis?"

"No. It is, Oliver, a simple statement of fact."

"I don't believe in aliens, either, but, ah, the light's green. We can go."

"I like it!"

Oliver gave her a very odd look, but that was okay, because he didn't understand. She was just happy he was with her on this, the very controversial alien debate. Whilst Broots had always said he couldn't discount the possibility, and Lyle had obviously believed, being that he was a human-alien hybrid himself, according to the natives of his savage, little town, and Sydney had steadfastly remained on the fence, she was glad Oliver was on her side.

Raines was just insane, like his dead minion, believing that aliens would have any interest in abducting folk, let alone him, who was cooler than... ice. Well, actually, wrong analogy, because he was cooler than ice, he was stone cold. But he wasn't cool, funky, Awesome, man!

"Red."

"H-wha?"

"Brake, Parker! Red light!"

"Oh. Engaging traction control, now! Or before." She got another of _those_ looks from Oliver. "What? I braked."

"You're a _Star Trek_ fan?"

"No. Are you?"

"No."

She laughed. "Yeah, right! Alien lover! I can't believe you just lied to my face like that. You've never actually... been with an alien before, have you? At a sci-fi convention or something?"

"What? You're asking me about my l-l-love life? Now?"

"Sex life, Ol. And yes, now! It's a matter of national security, so give me a bloody answer already!"

"That's none of your business, Parker."

"Lyle would have told me."

"Okay, that is just gross, Parker! Gross!"

"I prefer to call it 'sibling bonding'."

"I prefer to call it 'get a new shrink'! And watch the road, okay! Eyes, road, brake pedal! You drive like a mad woman!"

"I am a mad woman. We're all mad in this family." She affected a Transylvania accent, "And you are very welcome, my dear."

"_The Addams Family_?"

"Pff!"

* * *

Walking into the house, Parker found Cherice sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water, trying to control the urge to cry in front of her four kids.

"Hey, it's all right," Parker told her. She put her arms around her and hugged her, smiling at each of the children in turn, wondering why exactly they were doing in the kitchen and what they were expecting her to do, now that Dad had taken off. Drag him back, kicking and screaming?

"Do you want to see what's on television?" Oliver asked the kids. "Something cool might be on, you just never know."

Eddie gave him a weird look, and replied, "I can read, you know. As in, the TV Guide. Wowser! You're a strange one."

"You... you... um... B-boys?"

Eddie rolled her eyes, lifting Rebel Agnes up into her arms. "Fine! We will make like mindless robots, for your very own viewing pleasure, Mr. Oliver Copeland!"

Oliver looked up at Parker, speechless. He didn't know how to deal with this one, she was just too combative and snarky, and he'd never been good with kids, ever.

"Good job, guys," Parker told them. "I gotta talk to Mom for a bit. You just watch TV and..." She clapped her hands together, failing on something clever and convincing to say to get the kids out of the room.

"Walk!" Eddie hissed to Dexter, and he started walking, refusing to drop the unhappy face.

* * *

Oliver took a seat on the couch, aware that Eddie, who was sitting on the other end of the couch, on the arm rest, was fixing him with a death glare. To be frankly honest, he couldn't take the girl and he knew it.

The reason he'd sought Mia out, after leaving Wilmington for Blue Cove and a new job, was not merely because he'd wanted to give her, the woman he loved, his best wishes, but also because of Eddie. Because he couldn't be around Eddie without her treating him like a leper, or something diseased, and because, deep down inside, he didn't care, he would still come back, even if just to be insulted by her, his little eight-year-old half-sister.

But he had stayed away, he had gone to see Mia, half hoping against hope that she would tell him she wasn't serious with Daniels and that they'd really had something, something that wasn't just cooked up for publicity's sake, something true, genuine. Because Eddie was the one the universe had chosen for him and she made him crazy. And it was very, very wrong, but he knew she felt it too. That was why she couldn't lay off of him, why she couldn't peel her eyes of him, why she had to narrow her eyes at him in a glare... every... single... time!

He did not love her. Not in any romantic notion. He hardly even knew her. She was his baby sister, for Hell's sake! But something inside him wanted her.

He assumed it was what was called Convergence, by the Centre's competitor, Elisabeth Tam, but even as he'd read up about it, he hadn't wanted to know, hadn't wanted to hear how bad it could get, because he didn't want it to go any further. He just wanted to be Oliver! Oliver who loved Mia even though Mia didn't love him (not really); Oliver who wasn't a creep and could keep his hands, and his eyes, to himself; who was no good with kids, but would have loved to have had his own children one day, maybe even with Mia, or another wonderful lady he got along with and who made him happy and whom he made happy in return. But, by God, not Oliver who wanted Eddie! Who wanted this child – because the universe had decided it way before either of them had been born or even thought of!

But by God, William, had to have the very worst timing in the history of the universe. Because he'd decided, just now, when his family needed him most, to up and out of their lives – leaving Oliver, and the mysterious Sam, the only men in their lives! And where was Sam now? God bloody knew where, but it wasn't here! And Oliver was!

Oliver "Bloody Idiot" Copeland was.

He sure hoped William had had a damn good reason for what he'd done, because if Parker didn't kill him when she finally got her hands on him, he would.

* * *

Parker sighed heavily, sitting down on the table beside Cherice. "Wowser! That other woman – she must really be something!"

Cherice looked up at her, confused and hurt.

"Honey," Parker told her. "I only say that 'cause you're a real dish! A real dish! And I have no earthly idea why William would leave you for some two-bit skank from wherever the hell she's from. Let us suffice to say, the man is out of his mind."

She sighed. "But he was always a little out of his mind, wasn't he?"

Cherice started to cry again, dropping her face into her hands, and Parker patted her head.

"I'm lost. I dunno what to do. Where the _fuck_ is Lyle? Dead! Dead! Dead's not a good enough reason! Fuck, I'm gonna kill him! Argh!" She huffed, patting her belly. "Everything's good, baby. Everything is good."

Cherice sniffed. "When you find him, can you tell him from me _I hate his fucking guts_?!"

Parker nodded. "Can do, Mom. Can do."

* * *

"Ol-i-ver?" Parker waved to him from the doorway. "Butt, here, right now. Good boy."

Oliver patted Dexter's head and stood up, joining Parker by the door. He ignored Eddie's eye roll. "What did you find out?"

"Mommy hates Lyle's guts. Dad and she had a wee tiff last night. Lady friend trouble. Mmm-hmm. You see, Ollie, this is where we need a real Empath about the house." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. "Youch!"

"Do you really have to do that?"

"The boys like it."

"Uh-huh."

She rolled her eyes. "Jeez Louise, Ol! Don't be so McGeek. Broots mighta said he didn't like it, but I know where his eyes went when I wasn't looking. That, my dear, is what they call power. And I had all the boys wrapped around my little finger. But not you! And it sucks! Why can't you just," she snapped her fingers, "snap back into it?!"

"Because that's not how it works, Parker."

She made a face. "Lyle could've."

"Enough about him already!"

"He was funny. I could press his buttons. I miss button-pressing. And we had matching eyes, which of course made it ten times funnier! Matching, Ol. I love matching stuff! Doesn't everybody?"

"What... what's wrong with you, Parker?"

She laughed. "Baby has butterflies. I don't know why, but it's really funny all of a sudden! I feel sorta... woozy..." She laughed again. Oliver caught her before she made land with her face on the floor.

"Cherice! Cherice, you gotta get in here now! Okay, okay, you kids stay back. Everything... everything's under control. Oliver... Oliver has this." He set Parker on the floor gently and glanced around at the children who'd suddenly forgotten all about the existence of television and were crowding around. With shaking hands, he got out his cell phone, about to call 9-1-1, but Eddie grabbed the phone out his hands with a scathing look.

"Oh, please, Ollie! Just stick with what you know, okay – which is basically nothing. The lady's baby is fine. The lady is fine. It's just butterflies. Happy Sunshine, baby. You, are an idiot! An A-Grade, top-o'-yer-class idiot." She leaned closer. "Breathe! You're lookin' a little pale there, man."

Oliver whimpered. "Crazy sister child. Please go away. Please leave my sister alone. Cherice! Help!"

Cherice appeared in the door, frowning. "Eddie, take the little ones to their rooms. They shouldn't be seeing this." She smiled at her younger kids, trying her best to appear confident, calm and in control. "It's all right, kids. Mel is fine. She's just fine."

"We know that already," Dexter scowled, too quietly for her to hear but just loud enough for Oliver to catch, but he grabbed Eddie's hand and nodded to Rebel Agnes, indicating that she should pick her up. "Let's go!"

"What a little baby he is!" Eddie laughed, as the procession of kids passed him, and Oliver wanted to cry.

He bent down and hugged Parker. "Your brother is here. I'm right here, baby."

"Please," Cherice told him. "Step away from her. I need room. And call the ambulance."

He heard a dull thud from down the hallway and looked out into the hall to see his phone lying on the floor and Eddie disappearing into her bedroom with her siblings. He rushed to retrieve his phone and call 9-1-1, as Cherice had said.

* * *

"I am fine, Sydney," Parker groused. "Where is my coffee?"

"The planet Zorg, perhaps?"

"A joke. Nice, Syd. I will kick your butt for that later, you realise?"

"I look forward to it," he told her.

She scowled. "Why are you here, anyway? Where's Oliver?"

"Getting himself a coffee, I think."

She scowled again. "I'm fine!" she snapped. "Quit with the worrying eyes!"

"Not worried, Parker. I heard you the first time."

"Then what the hell, Syd?!"

"Butterflies, Miss Parker? I thought, ah, that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach usually meant Convergence was in the air."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You read too much, Syd! Ever since you've been with that writer, you've been strange! Maybe you're not really Sydney, but some freaky pod person who just so happens to look like him! Or Jacob!"

"All right."

"Jacob!"

"Stop- Just stop saying my brother's name, all right."

"I hate you, Jacob!"

"Enough."

"I still hate you!"

"Parker, act your age."

She snorted. "Age is just a number, and I'll have you know, now that Daddy's gone and Raines is gone, that does not automatically make you my surrogate father. That makes Brown my surrogate daddy."

"Ouch."

She laughed for a moment, before the grin faded from her eyes. "Is... is that insult aimed at me, Sydney?"

He winked at her.

"You keep being such an ass to me, Green, and Lyle is gonna take offence. And you know, he happened to think he was my daddy once too."

Sydney cracked up into laughter. "Oh God, Parker! You're really a very funny woman."

"I swear," she growled in deadly serious tones.

"Okay, okay. If you swear to it."

"In another life, on another planet, to another mother. He was mah daddy."

"Aren't you feeling kind of violated right now?"

"Kind of."

"What... what's wrong?!" Oliver rushed into the room, coffee in hand. "Why... why do you feel violated, Parker? What happened? Is the baby alright? Oh God, oh God! Sydney, slap me!"

Sydney slapped him.

Oliver rubbed his face. "Ow."

"You said I should..."

"Yeah." Oliver laughed half-heartedly. "Thanks."

Parker snatched Oliver's coffee off him, only to have Sydney take it off her. "I'm fine, Oliver. Nothing wrong with me. If you discount Syd's crazy, nonsensical death wish, which is just sort of _in my face_ right now! I'm breezy!"

"You're... you're mad?"

"What the fuck, Ol?"

"I... What? What do you... What does that mean? Breezy?"

"Sweeper terminology. Cooooool. Calm. A-OK. Fine, feisty, flambé. Jeez, Ol. Where do you work again? Elisabeth Tam?"

"No!"

"Ooo. Defensive much? Why, oh why, cruel world? Oliver, you're not working for the enemy, are you? Oh my! Now I see why you were reluctant to answer my question in the car earlier. The one about aliens and lurve! You – and _my_ fake twin!"

"I feel sick!"

"I hope you do! Cheater! Liar! Fake twin stealer!"

Oliver turned to look at Sydney, desperate. "Why is she like this?"

"Convergence, Oliver. Butterflies. She can feel it. It doesn't agree with her. Usually means it's someone close. Family member, brother from another mother, BFF."

"Are you okay?"

"Maybe if you," he pointed at the door. Thatta way.

"What? You think it's _me_?!"

"Well it sure as hell isn't me, Oliver!" Sydney snapped.

Oliver took his coffee back and walked over, looking seriously ticked off.

"Mean, mean, mean," Parker slurred.

"Quiet, Parker. You're making no sense."

She poked her tongue out at him. She bet that made sense, though.

"I'll pretend I didn't see that."

She snorted.

"You hear something?"

"Ha, ha, Syd."

"Oh, she can speak!"

"Only in tongues, Syd. Only in tongues."

"Guess I must speak the same strange language, then, eh?"

She winked at him. Then she sighed. "What do you think? Cherice and Oliver?"

"I don't believe in Convergence, Miss Parker."

"Then pretend you do! Blimey, boy! Assuming you believe in Convergence, what do you think? Could Cherice and Oliver be Convergence partners?"

Sydney shrugged. "He's a guy, she's a girl. He's a Possessor. Theoretically, it's possible."

"You think this mistress story's bogus? A front, so Cherice and ol' Ollie could get together? Maybe they done the old man in?" Parker frowned. "Though, I did speak with him on the phone last night. Before he hung up on me. Bad phone manners. It's a Centre thing, I guess. I think he said something like, 'I can't talk to you right now. I can't talk to anyone. My heart is broken!' And that was it."

"Mmm-hmm."

"My hand to God, Syd. That is what he said. Minus the... bit about his heart being broken, and only because he hasn't got a heart, or else, I swear, he would've said it. I'm surprised he didn't, anyway. I was really tired, and really irritable. I might just have bought it."

"Cherice and Oliver?"

"Well, who else is it gonna be, Syd?"

"I dunno, Parker, but don't the two people have to be in the same room together for you to get that feeling, strictly-speaking?"

"Strictly-speaking. But there's no one else here, Sydney. Just me and you and there was Oliver, before you sent him packing."

"Are you sure Oliver is your brother, Miss Parker?"

"Your mind goes creepy places when you're Pretending, Sydney, and yes, I'm sure Oliver and I don't have Convergence. I have Convergence with someone who now hates me, thank you for asking. And he left, to get away from me and partly to meet some other lady and marry her so they could have babies together. Who wouldn't die." She sniffed. "Stop looking at me like that, Sydney. You're the weird one."

"Just exploring the possibilities."

"Well, while you're about it, maybe you should explore the possibility that Oliver and I are twins, and have a _real_ twin bond, and Oliver is an Empath. Emmmpath. Yes, that's right. You remember now."

"He never kissed me!"

Parker laughed. "Ew-w-w! Who _did_ he kiss?"

"Sam, Frankie. Other people I really don't want to... even... Ever!"

"Res-ton?"

"Zero interest, Parker. Zero!"

She nodded. "So, twin bond. Oliver, who thinks he's cured, and thus no longer an Empath, is unconsciously Projecting his, or somebody else's Convergence onto me. Or, just sharing it, cooties and all. Uck! Or- Sydney, my heard hurts! I need caffeine."

"Not gonna happen, Parker."

She made a face. "You're so mean. Okay, so what about this: What if it's Convergence withdrawal?"

"Is that the same feeling as being around the person you have Convergence with, or a different feeling? And... why- why withdrawal? If they're an established couple, they have their Convergence under wraps."

"William and Cherice. But that wouldn't work either."

"Why?"

"Not a Possessor."

"Not as far as we know, but not an impossibility, Parker. Unless she is."

Parker sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "No. My Perception says no."

"Mine says yes."

"What? For who? Her, or...?"

"Him."

"Your Perception's shot."

"No, I think yours is. Unless there's something you're not telling me, Miss Parker?"

"Maybe there's something _you're_ not telling _me_, Sydney?"

"Such as?" he asked.

"Why you'd possibly care to know that Convergence sometimes feels like butterflies, when you don't even believe in the damn thing!"

Sydney sighed. "I asked Raines. When the company suspected Jarod and yourself may have been Convergence partners, I wanted to know everything I could."

"But we're not! And we weren't! It was Residual Convergence," Parker growled.

"You didn't only hang out with your mom, Miss Parker, and Jarod didn't only hang out with me. You're both Possessors, and you both have the capacity to hold onto feelings for a long time, to recognise them if you feel them again, and hone in on them. Through your Perception or your other abilities, it doesn't really matter how, the point is that you can."

"Your _point_ being?"

"Edna, Raines."

"Edna's dead."

"And Oliver is an Empath. A doorway. Into?"

Parker frowned. "Feelings. Other people's feelings, from another time. It's Edna! Her house! And... and Raines leaving! Oh my God, that is so crazy, Sydney!"

He sighed, shrugging.

"So, who's the Possessor?"

"You tell me?"

"Well...?"

"My money's on Raines. Ex-Parker, isn't he?"

"But Daddy wasn't a Possessor."

"That we knew of."

Parker lay back on the bed. "My heads still hurts. So how are we gonna fix it?"

"Oliver stays away from that house. He can't Feel her if he's not around anywhere her feelings touched."

"So why wasn't Oliver affected?"

"Successive personality. His sensitivity was simply bleed-through from a former personality. Oliver isn't cured, Miss Parker. He's Oliver." He frowned. "But I won't go telling the company that. And please, for goodness sakes – don't tell Oliver, either."

"No. I won't. Raines is a Possessor?"

Sydney shook his head. "You can quit playing me for a fool, Parker. I know you know. You've always known."

Parker snorted. "Mistrusting jerk!"

"What is he?"

"Reaper."

"Ah."

"Makes sense now, doesn't it? Why he's so pissed about Lyle. They're brothers. From another mother."

"Oh, be quiet!"

"I heard you say it, boy!"

"It was the Empath. He irks me!"

"I thought Lyle irked you?"

"Class Five, Parker. If Africa's right, Oliver was once a much higher Class, and much more dangerous than Lyle could ever hope to be."

"Lyle didn't need to be a high-Class Empath to be dangerous, Syd. He was born dangerous."

"In what regard, Miss Parker?"

"Normality. He looked so normal. Lulled people into a false sense of security. Familiarity."

"And Oliver is not also, by that reasoning, normal?"

"Yeah, sure, but he's not as pretty as Lyle. People like the pretty ones. Pretty is what they consider normal, even though, in truth, I'm guessing there are a whole lot more average-looking people than there are pretty ones."

"But he wasn't normal where it counted, was he?" Sydney put a fist to his chest. "Inside."

"People get angry. People hold onto anger and it turns into grudges, a narrow field of vision and an unwillingness to change, to step outside of their rigid ways. A lot of people. Enough to be called normal even. Human nature. But you are right. People also cower before a stronger power. Show their submissiveness, so they will not be destroyed. To survive another day. They obey the law, to a larger extent, if someone is watching. But remember, Lyle did that. And he was pretty. He knew all the right words. He'd learnt to fool people, string them along. Lull them. They thought they were the game setters, but they were just the followers, like the rest of them. He wasn't playing to their tune, they were playing to his. Lyle was good at that. Catchy tunes."

"Do you trust Oliver?"

"Haven't made up my mind yet," Parker told him.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes and no."

"He's an Empath, Parker. This is important. Do you want to trust him?"

"Sometimes, I really want him to be my twin, but at other times... I feel like I'm betraying Lyle for wanting Oliver to be my brother. Even though I _know_ Lyle wasn't my brother."

"You had a bond."

"Yeah, one that he forced on me. One that I didn't ask for. I know he wasn't my real twin, and I shouldn't even be this shitty about it, or about him, but I am, Sydney! Maybe... maybe Oliver's right, and I am sick. Maybe I did... fall in love with the psycho. As disgusting as that sounds."

Sydney shook his head. "A lot of people did, Parker."

"But not the way I did. And now, with Oliver... I just don't feel it. The connection, or bond or whatever. Maybe it's because his Empath mojo's offline, but with Lyle, I felt like I had to be really, really careful, because he knew me. He knew me more than I knew me, because there were parts of me I didn't want to know, parts I was afraid of, but he wasn't afraid of those parts because... because they couldn't hurt him, only I could, and... and as long as I didn't know about those... those things... he was safe. Utterly safe."

She pulled a face. "Empaths, Sydney! How can you stand them?"

Sydney shrugged. You did what you had to do. "And you trust Oliver, when he says it's not him?"

"I have no feelings either way, Sydney."

"You felt what it felt like."

She nodded. "It didn't feel like Edie and William. Pining or otherwise. It felt different. Sort of... scared, but crazy too! You know?"

Sydney shook his head. Unfortunately, he did not know.

"I was really out of it. It wasn't soft or warm or gentle. It was aggressive, Sydney. It was horrible."

"Gentle?"

"Lyle and his girl. Theirs felt nice. Lyle shared with me once. So I'd believe him. It made me feel... protected, like I could just be myself, because... that was okay. I didn't need to pretend." She sighed. "I think it feels different for different couples."

"You can feel the difference?"

"When I know the people involved, I guess I can."

"You could identify these people? Separately?"

Parker frowned. "What... what do you mean?"

"You're the Primary, in your twin bond. That's what they say."

She nodded.

"Well, then do you think, just maybe, it may be possible for you to isolate even just something minute, something individual, about the individuals in the Convergence bond you sensed? Do you think you could pick them out even if they weren't together? Even if Oliver did not want you to?"

Parker blinked. "You don't believe in Convergence, right?"

"I don't. But, I must admit, the idea intrigues me."

"You don't say, Sydney. You've got that look in your eye. It's sorta freaky. The _I'm your man, ma'am_ look."

Sydney merely looked confused.

"'Sure, I'll take the case, lady, but only for a pretty gal like you.'" She winked.

"That look," he said. "I see."

Parker grinned. "You thought you'd perfected your poker face?"

"No, no. Little lady, I know I have. But you, my dear, have an unfair advantage."

"I didn't Read you, if that's what you're thinking, Syd. Not an Empath. You really had the look."

He smiled, holding up a finger to indicate a point of interest. "Familiarity." She'd said it before, hadn't she? Sydney was too familiar with Parker, trusted her even. Deep down inside, a part of him didn't feel he needed to hide his true self from her, nor his honest feelings.

"My bad," she laughed. "Can I help being pretty? I was born this way."

Sydney laughed too. No, she couldn't help it. She was right, she had been born that way. But he also knew she knew damn well how to work it to her advantage, same as Lyle.

"So, you think Oliver knows whose it is?"

"I have my suspicions, like any good Centre employee. Suspicious 'til the last."

She sighed. "I don't want to pass out like that again. And who really knows what it might have done to my baby? I need to figure this one out, Sydney. If I can. Coffee might help." She smiled at him nicely.

"Oh God, I am easy!" he muttered, and walked away to get her a cup of coffee.

She smiled a bit more.

* * *

Parker was staring ahead of her, a strange frown forming on her face, when Sydney returned with her coffee.

"Miss Parker?"

She looked at him, wincing. "The girl, Syd!"

He shook his head. He didn't know which girl she was talking about.

"Lyle's girl. His Convergence partner, his CP. She wasn't Lin."

"How do you know that?"

"Lin was my friend, Mimi. My Mediator, Syd. I know what she felt like. This girl wasn't a girl. She was a woman."

"That's very good, Parker, but is it really relevant right now?" Sydney asked, handing her her coffee.

"I think... I think I have a connection with this woman, through the artificial bond Lyle and I shared."

"You're not an Empath, Parker. You shouldn't be able to... to do that. Trace along a connection like that."

"You said I was Primary to Oliver, a sorta spiffy Empath, if he could remember. You think I could have also been Primary to Lyle? That even though he's gone, the connections we shared aren't, and that's why I can... feel whatever it is I'm feeling?"

"I'm not an expert in Empathy, Miss Parker. I really can't say, I'm sorry."

"The girl! The girl on the island! Sydney! It was Lyle! He showed me the girl. He _showed_ me the girl. She didn't have a connection with me, she had one with him. And... and?" She blinked, and began to gesture with her hands. "There are others. The girl had a connection with Ocee, but that was much, much older. That was before, and then Lyle came along... and then... he helped Ocee connect with the girl more fully." She looked at Sydney slowly. "What the fuck, Sydney? Can all Empaths do that? Should I be able to feel this shit? I'm scared. I was wary of them before, but this is... This is insane! Is someone messing with my head, or is this... is this shit really real? 'Cause... I... I... I'm really freaking out right now!"

"Shh. Shh." Sydney sat down beside her on the bed, drawing her nearer. He rubbed her arms comfortingly. "I'll take care of you," he told her. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

She stared at him, breathing too hard, and then her eyes widened in understanding and horror. "You!"

Sydney winced. "Miss Parker."

She leant away from him sharply, scootching away from him on the mattress. "Y-y- You d-d- I don't want you to touch me! Don't you touch me! Please, Sydney, don't. Don't even look at me!"

"I... I..."

Parker's bottom lip wobbled, but she couldn't find the right words.

"She told me she was your mother, Miss Parker. Your mother, who was dead. Who I knew to be dead. And then she said we had been Convergence partners, and lovers, and you were our daughter. My daughter. What was I going to think? What would you have thought? Would you have just b-blindly believed?"

Parker shook her head. "She, Sydney?"

The look on her face told Sydney he'd misinterpreted her words. She was not an Empath, she had merely traced along the lines of their Connection, from herself to her mother to him. He had told her something, confessed to something, he need never have said, need never have revealed. "The woman," he told her weakly. "The writer. She told me she was... Catherine. That... She- she told me a lot of things. I did not believe her. Why should I? There was no reason, no cause. Y-y-you must believe me, Miss Parker. If I had trusted her word, if I had believed her, I would have told you. I would have told you everything she told me. But I did not want to hurt you. I did not want to expose you like that, to put your most delicate vulnerability right in her hands, for her to do with as she pleased. I care for you."

Parker's face fell, and she nodded, tears in her eyes. "I can feel that, Sydney." She stared at him, almost helplessly. "I'm not an Empath. Why is this happening to me? I think... I think... it hurts!" The tears ran out of her eyes and down her face, and she began to cry in earnest, rocking back and forth, her hands clenched into fists. "It hurts."

Sydney reached for her arm, very slowly, but he didn't touch her. He didn't know if he could. "Tell me about the woman, Melody," he said. "The woman who is Lyle's Convergence partner."

The pain disappeared from Parker's features and she stared ahead of her, not even seeing him. "She is a kind woman. A caring woman. She likes the feel of the wind against her skin, to run, to be free. She wishes she could help other people, to feel the same way, to be free also. She has four brothers, but no sisters. And she is a mother. She has..." She looked at Sydney suddenly, jerkily. "It's gone. The pain. I can't... She's gone. I can't feel her. I..." She reached out her hand and rested it tremulously against Sydney's face. "I can't feel you." She blinked. "I... I... I mean, I can feel you. With my- with my hand, but not... not Empathically. What... what's going on? Sydney?"

He put his hand over hers. "You're not alone."

"I'm not an Empath," she told him flatly, her eyes unimpressed. "That shit doesn't charm me into trusting you, you know?"

"I don't know what to say! But I'm here! I'm right here, and I'm your friend. I'm with you."

"You'd be a bad parent if you admitted anything else," she said, then she grinned. "Do you think it's true? You really are my dad? Darcy O'Hara is Catherine?"

"You said you'd felt it?"

"Empaths can create false realities, false feelings. Implant them in your mind, interlink them with your neural pathways, blah, blah. That's why they call them weapons of mass destruction." She smiled. "It's called Impressing someone. Impressing, eh?"

"Frightening," Sydney replied.

"You have to be exceptionally skilled not to mess with everything, make it all go haywire. People would notice, suspect. That's why Empathic sharing should only be performed by someone who knows what they're doing and who has had substantial practise." She frowned. "Weird shit that just pops up in your head, huh?"

She glanced around the room. "The bond I have, had with Lyle, our artificial twin bond. He could Share. Easy as anything. And I never got the sense that the bond he made with me hurt me in any way." She pointed to her head. "Messed me up inside. Mush. He was a good Empath. A good robot." She leant closer to Sydney, so she could whisper just loud enough for him to still hear her. "I wasn't Primary with him."

She leant away sharply, scooted across the bed, and grabbed her coffee; took a sip. Smiled at him.

Somehow, Sydney didn't feel all that comforted. Suddenly, the creepy thoughts that sometimes came to him, the ones that he so studiously ignored, were right there, in his mind's eye, and they wondered if this smiling person really was Miss Parker; if Miss Parker had not been ripped out of her body and replaced with someone else. Someone dangerous.

Someone like Lyle, who could see into a person's mind and body as easily and naturally as breathing, and who, just recently, had been put out of his own body. Who could trace the lines of a person's existence from the present to the past and all the way back again.

Sydney shivered. He'd promised that he would keep Parker safe, that he would look after her, but what if this wasn't Parker anymore, what if the thing he was really protecting was a monster, and Parker was already gone, lost, dead to this world?

He no longer had any way of knowing.

Parker placed a hand on her belly and smiled, but Sydney pretended he hadn't seen. He couldn't even protect Parker's baby, and he felt awful for it, but possibly his only chance would be to take the baby far, far away, once it was born, and hope like crazy something, or someone out there, was able to block the bond between mother and child.

He couldn't bear to think that it might be worse than that, that the _child_ might be the monster laying in wait.

He had heard, once, and only once, of the Bug. As a small child. What he had heard had been enough. A group of visiting children had dared him to listen at the door, to find out something worthwhile and then come and report back to the group. As he was leaving, Jacob had caught his hand, but he had pulled his hand away and gone to listen anyway. But he couldn't stay. Not to hear that, not to hear about the monster. He did not want to dream of the monster, to make it real by thinking of it, by giving it his life force.

He didn't tell the kids what he'd heard. Nothing, he said. He'd heard nothing. The adults had been talking too quietly, or else the door was just too thick. Jacob had joked and said that he was probably taken with a cold, laughing about it jovially, and that was when Sydney knew Jacob had been covering for him. Jacob never interrupted, never laughed or joked about someone else's misfortune, if about anything. Jacob was protecting him.

Silently, he had been thankful, but he had scowled at his brother and asked what he would know about it anyway – he was probably the one who had made him ill to begin with, so there was really no reason for him to be smiling, for any of them to be smiling!

The group had fallen silent, and nobody had wanted to talk to Jacob after that, to sit near him or even look at him. They had all pretended as if he didn't exist, even though he wasn't the sick one and Sydney was. They'd still talked to Sydney, but Jacob had stopped being real to them, was just a thing and not a person. A horrible, awful thing. A thing that might hurt them too, given the chance, because things that were not people didn't think the same way, they just did, and they never thought, they never cared. They could do terrible things, over and over again.

When, finally, Sydney and Jacob were sent to their room, Sydney didn't say anything to his brother. The pretence he had been keeping all night had been painful, and he hurt still, but he couldn't share the hurt he felt with Jacob, not after what he'd done for him, so he said nothing, and he didn't hug his brother when he really would have liked to. He went to bed and tried to sleep, to forget about the pain. And then, as he was thinking about the great pain and how he wished he didn't have to hurt Jacob further by shunning him, he fell asleep and forgot about the terrible story he'd heard, put it to the back of his mind, where it could no longer scare him, where it could only be found by someone who knew it was there, someone who wasn't afraid of it. Who wanted to find it.

Miss Parker was standing by the window, looking out at the grey, cloudy day, her face expressionless.

Sydney stood up from the bed and crossed to the window, took up beside her. Her face remained expressionless, and she didn't turn to look at him, to meet his gaze.

He stepped closer and put his arms around her, pulling her nearer and holding her. He could feel her heart beating slowly, slowly, calmly, but her face still remained without expression.

"I think it shall rain," she said, in a tone devoid of life. "I can feel the cold from here."

* * *

The Bug was powerful, and the Tower wanted it. Had always wanted it, from the first instance they had learned of it, and imagined the glimmer of it, high up in the night's sky, the brilliant shine of it, bright enough to outshine any star, and hot enough to burn anyone who got too near.

* * *

"Oliver lied," Parker said, to the cold glass now streaming with rain. "It was his Convergence that I felt. His and Eddie's." Sydney had since gone to find Oliver; she was alone.

* * *

"I know who the Bug is," Jarod told his father. "You were right, not to trust him. It was him all along. _He_ was the Bug. He can commune with the other side." Jarod sighed heavily. "That's why he knows about the Prophecy. He'd already gotten to Parker, but he had to find a way to get to me. And he found Emily. I only have one sister, one point of weakness, one chance, and he had to go after her! He had to have her! It's my fault, Dad! It's all my fault! I am the Child of Prophecy, and he's the Bug. The Apocalypse Child. The enemy. It's all my fault."

He shook his head. "I should have trusted you, Dad. I'm sorry. What... what am I supposed to do now?"

"You have to stop it. Find it and stop it. You have to kill it, and not just the body it's inhabiting. All of it. You may have to kill the children too. If they're infected. Doesn't matter how small the infection, if they've got the thing inside them, you have no choice. And your sister."

"I can't do that, Dad."

"If you value this world you call home, you'll learn to, son."

"And Parker, our baby?"

"She's it's instrument now."

"But she's strong. She's really strong, Dad. She can fight it. I think, I think she can even beat it. She's my friend! She's still my friend, Dad!"

"It has her in its grip, Jarod. Nothin' you can do for her now."

"I won't kill her. I'm gonna save her. I refuse, Dad. I will not hurt her!"

Charles nodded. Jarod's mind was made up, he could tell that already. He'd met the monster before, had failed to grasp its true nature, and now he thought he had a fighting chance with the thing. He was wrong, but if he wanted to save his girl and their baby, Charles figured he ought to give Jarod the chance. When it turned ugly, he wouldn't argue over Emi and the kids. He'd just shut up and down it, nice and clean. Quickly, humanely.

"You better watch your back, son," he said. "She might just hurt you."

* * *

"Hey, hey, hey! It's all right. I've got ya. It's all right now, baby," Broots said, smoothing a hand over Silvie's forehead as she lay in his arms. She'd been screaming and thrashing about something frightening before he'd woken her up, but now she was quiet, silent and trembling. He could tell he wasn't the only one who'd been scared. She'd had a real bad nightmare, but it was over now.

He kissed the top of her head and held her tight. "I've got you, honey. It was just a dream."

A while later, as he was starting to drift off back to sleep, she whispered, just loud enough so that he might hear, "I love you, Ezra," and her tone of voice, strangely devoid of all emotion, was a little bit worrying, but he was so very tired, and she was warm and comforting in his arms, and she'd told him she loved him, so he let his eyes close and let sleep take him, take all of his worries away.

Parker placed her hand up against the cold window, watching the water stream down the glass. "I'll try to help Oliver, if that's what you want, for Eddie's sake, but I'm only doing this because I want to. It doesn't mean I'll help you again. You don't mean anything to me anymore, you're nobody. You're less than nobody. I know you're real, but I don't want you to be. I wish you'd just disappear, like you were never there to begin with. I hope you understand we're not friends anymore, and I don't trust you."

She took her hand off the glass, and turned away from the window. It was time to find Oliver and Sydney.

* * *

She found Oliver in the waiting area, sleeping, it looked like. "Oliver? Oliver?"

He didn't wake up, or open his eyes, he just mumbled something like "Mia".

She slapped him across the face. That made him open his eyes.

As soon as he saw her, his eyes took on a panicked expression. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I can go. There's nothing wrong with me." She turned to catch Sydney's gaze. "I'm a free woman. Pack it up, boys. We're not sticking around here."

* * *

Emily smiled at him when she came in with two mugs of coffee and set his mug down on the table in front of him. "What are you working on?"

"I met your older daughter," he said, by way of dodging her question. "She's a little odd. I take it you told her about Gift of the Sun."

"We spoke on the telephone, yes."

Jarod nodded, and gave a heavy sigh. "Emily, I think I may need your help."

"Whatever I can do, big brother."

He sighed. "It's about Dad, and... I know you're a Mediator."

"Yes."

"I think he's sick. Confused. He's saying some very odd things. I think he might do something he'll later regret, something bad. Really bad."

"You suspect he is being influenced somehow?"

He nodded. "Have you ever heard of something or someone called the Bug?"

"I see why you're concerned. Dad's not exactly the sort to believe in conspiracy theories. There has to be some kind of concrete evidence for Dad to really take it seriously. Why, what has he been saying? He hasn't told me anything like that, but I guess he mightn't have wanted to alarm me any more than was necessary. I definitely would have mentioned it otherwise. I have heard the stories before, though. When I was in boarding school, the older girls would sometimes talk about it, to try and scare new students with a view to getting a bit of a laugh of out of it, I suppose. It – he or she – is said to be some sort of alien parasite that can pass through families by way of blood or genetics, laying dormant until the right moment, when it will emerge in all its glory, presumably to destroy the planet or subjugate the human race or plant an apple orchard. Who knows? I always liked the apple tree theory. You know, I'm just sitting here, under this nice shady tree, waiting for my folks to come back around in their shiny spaceship. And I got nothing but time. Good times." She smiled, but her smile faded away, after a moment. "You're really worried, aren't you?"

"He was talking about... About murder, Em. About murdering people."

"This is worrying, Jarod. Seriously worrying. How long has Dad been like this? How long has he been fixated on this?"

"I think... I think I might have inadvertently made things a whole lot worse."

"How?"

"I told him I had a pretty good idea it was Lyle."

"My husband?"

He forced himself to smile at that comment and the obviously troubled expression on her face, but inside he wasn't smiling in the slightest. "Emily, you're not married."

"Why? Why tell him you suspected it was Lyle? Do you even believe in this story, to begin with?"

"I let myself get carried away," he admitted. "I was curious. I deeply regret that, now, but what's done is done."

"This... this murdering and killing he was talking about, he meant us, didn't he? Me and the kids, Mel, us?"

"Look, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, pulling out a seat from the table he was sitting at and sitting down. "Oh yeah, Dad is messed up. Pretty damn good, too, it seems. Could be a lot of reasons for that, though. I'm no Empath; I'm not the one who can diagnose this sort of thing. Not that I think Dad'd let anyone he knew to be one near him. Could be the Tower, could be a mischievous spirit. Could be Dad, being Dad. He's a Pretender, Jarod. He was never trained the way you were. He might've gone off the rails by accident."

"Silvana told me Lyle saw spirits."

"That's your only reasoning? He's a high-Class Empath, Jarod. They see spirits. In some cases, they can even interact with them. It's not all just echoes and pangs and disembodied whispering in the night. The universe speaks to them."

"Your daughter told me she can see them too."

"You told Dad that?"

"No. No, not that I recall."

"Did you tell him where you got your information?"

"No."

"You think he might have figured it out, anyway?"

Jarod frowned.

"I don't want to hurt him, Jarod. He's my father and I care for him very much, but I won't stand for violence directed against the people I love. Especially not my children!"

"What are you going to do, Emily?" Jarod asked, confused as to her options, at this point.

"They trained me for Field, Jarod. To kill, if need be."

"You can't be serious, Em?"

"I am irrevocably serious, Jarod."

"You think you could take on Dad? I'm sorry, Em, but I just don't see that. If it was as easy as all that, you would never have let Kyle get the upper hand over you."

She glowered at him. "I was much younger then. I didn't much want to die. But if I have to die to protect those that I love, I will gladly go to my grave, Jarod."

"Well... I'm hoping that won't be necessary," he said, a little lamely. He didn't really know what to say. He hadn't meant to make her angry, or bring up painful memories from the past, but he had needed to know what was going through her head. He still wasn't sure he understood, but one thing was for sure, she was very fierce with her words. If only her actions were as fierce, they might stand a chance.

"How do you know he's not the Bug, Emily?" he asked, because, truthfully, though he wasn't sure he believed the tale, if it were true, it very well could have been Lyle.

"Yes, Jarod, how do I know? Do I care what bloody planet, or solar system, he's from? He's not trying to destroy the Earth, Jarod. He's not that cuckoo. Just listen to yourself. Are you that cuckoo?"

"Why would he tell you if he was, Emily? He could be centuries old, even older. Mediator or not, trained or not, Emily, you still don't have that kind of life experience."

"I'm not ageist, Jarod. It doesn't matter to me how old he is."

"It."

She laughed. "Cute, Jarod."

"How do you know he wasn't fooling you all along, Emily?"

"Oh, he was, just not about that. There's a lot of stuff I didn't tell him either, so the way I see it, we're about even."

"I'm being serious here, Emily."

"And so am I, big brother."

"Why do you trust him so much?"

"Never said I did," she replied. "So much." She stood up, took out her phone. "We'll come back to that. I gotta call Dad."

"He wanted me to kill you," Jarod told her quietly, and she stared at him as if assessing him, as if she might just take his ass down any moment. He wished, then, that he hadn't said anything. If she did try it, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He really didn't want to hurt her, but he had to look out for himself too. He wasn't sure he could control himself when it came to survival.

Spying his coffee on the table, he decided to take a sip and look innocuous. It was the best he could come up with, at that moment. He should have kept his mouth shut about Lyle, he knew that now, but he honestly hadn't thought it through all that deeply. He'd let himself get too carried away, too wrapped up in the mystery.

Charles had told him that at one point the Tower had suspected the Mysterious Healer or being the Bug, or at least one of them, but Jarod didn't buy that. He bought that the Tower might think it, but the Mysterious Healer was a good person, and not remotely interested in harming anyone. Jarod was sure of it. Lyle, on the other hand, could well have been plotting the destruction of the planet, as long as it meant the Centre and all of their compadres went up with it. He was unhinged, and people like that didn't think rationally. Anyone who'd been playing as many sides as he had, under the misguided and obviously insane impression that he might actually have a chance of taking them down, was definitely bound to be a little more than wonky in other regards. For all Jarod knew, Lyle could actually have believed himself a human-alien hybrid. And Bobby had seemed like a fairly impressionable kid.

He was probably seething that his "family" had come to his rescue before the Tower had made off with him, and if he was still alive, Jarod could totally see him planning the total and utter annihilation of their homeworld, too. He was just a nice type like that. And it would have been so Lyle!

If the spaceships didn't distract him, of course, because he always had liked strange gadgets, and imagining he could meaningfully converse with inanimate objects.

Glancing at Emily, Jarod pretended not to notice that nowadays, people _could_ "seemingly" converse with inanimate objects. No, he didn't see that at all. Besides, who wanted a fridge that could talk to them? Nobody. Except maybe Broots. Though, no doubt Broots would recommend _he_ visit In Denial Anonymous for his denial issues, but talking refrigerators just struck him as really creepy, the same way GPSs did, however cool they appeared at first. They were still creepy as hell!

"So what are you avoiding?" Emily asked, and he suddenly noticed that she was no longer talking on the phone. "Have you got yourself a new gal pal and she wants to get serious but you're only looking for a fling?"

Jarod stared at her. "What?"

"I said all that to confuse and fluster you into a halfway intelligible response, Jarod. Not a 'what'."

"I was just wondering if Broots is also secretly trained in ass-kicking."

"I really think you'd best hope not, Jarod. He could secretly be FBI. Fingers crossed, though, eh?"

Jarod winced. "I said I'm sorry."

"Sure. You did do that, Jarod. But in this instance, sorry's not gonna cut it."

Jarod nodded, and crossed his fingers.

Emily shook her head at him. "Are you secretly an alien-human hybrid, my brother?"

"Am I being obtuse? I only do it to confuse and befuddle you into a halfway forgiving response, Emily. If it worked for Lyle, I figure it could work for me too, if I play it right."

"Somehow, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"You're my brother. I don't want you to be my booty call," she told him seriously.

He made a face. "Argh! Traumatised for life, Em!"

She laughed, punching his arm affectionately. "I'm sorry if I was too honest with you, I just thought that was something you admired in a person."

"I'm making a new list, baby sis. A revised version. Improved, you might say."

"I'll make a note of that for future reference, hon." She tilted her head. "So, Dad's coming around. I told him to bring something to eat."

"Do you ever not think about food?"

"Yeah, when I'm not thinking about it."

"When you're thinking about your booty call, maybe," he muttered. "Mmm... Now I'm thinking about booty calls."

Emily smacked a hand over her mouth, giggling.

"I wasn't thinking about Miss Parker," he told her seriously, and she nodded, wide-eyed. Oh, she so believed him, especially seeing as he'd been the one to bring her up. "You started it," he moped. "You know I'm impressionable."

"I'm sorry, bun."

"Are you saying that because you really mean it, or because you know it's what I want to hear?" He frowned. "And why am I a bunny rabbit?"

She laughed.

So much for Mediators and their legendary ability to stay focussed, he thought. Emily looked like she was about to pass out from giggles. He reminded himself, as a loving and loyal brother, that she had been out of the game for some time; she was a little rusty, but he was sure, with proper polishing, she'd come up shiny again.

He bet what she was really thinking about was the food. This was Emily, after all. She was probably just then calculating how many calories giggling took off a person. Or he was just being extraordinary mean because there was something he wished not to think about, such as his earlier slip-up with their dad.

Nope, it was the food. He was convinced of it, and he could convince himself of it pretty damn good, because he was a Pretender and that was what he did, that was his thing. And he was also, strangely, thinking of the promised food, and even as guilty as he felt, he could still stand to eat. It wasn't his fault he couldn't be put off food so easily, like someone else might have been, he was a Pretender and such flights of whimsy had been trained out of him. Often unkindly and downright cruelly.

* * *

A sudden, unbidden wave of apprehension rolled over Jarod when he heard the door unlock and watched his father enter the room, the food Emily had asked that he get in hand. Charles was smiling, and it made Jarod uneasy, and what was even worse was that he was still hungry.

"Thanks, Dad," Emily told Charles, walking over to meet him and relieve him of the pizza boxes. "There's a coffee waiting for you in the kitchenette, if you're interested." When Charles had gone to see about his coffee, the smiled disappeared from her face and she handed Jarod one of the boxes of pizza, lowering her voice to a respectable whisper. "The truth is, the Major doesn't suspect Lyle, he suspects you. It's the perfect disguise. He's testing you, big brother. He's aware of your dislike of Lyle, and I'm sure he was just waiting for you to bring hubby up. But don't worry, I trust you." She gave him a wink. "I'll keep an eye on him for you, hmm."

Jarod could only frown, and by the time he'd gotten around to replying, Charles was walking back into the room.

Emily handed him the pizza that was for him and smiled again. "Here you go, Dad. I'll get you a plate."

"Much appreciated, sweetheart."

"You're welcome. You bring the food and we supply the hospitality. Name of the game." She laughed, leaving the room for the kitchenette.

Charles watched her go silently, and Jarod began to feel like a piece of meat, squished between two pieces of bread. He wasn't sure who he should trust, or how something like this could have happened without his knowing, but this was his family, his actual family, and suddenly it felt like the Centre all over again, like the machinations and lies from his childhood, and he didn't want it, just didn't want any part of it.

Abruptly, he realised that he was no longer hungry. Apparently Charles was wrong and he wasn't the Bug; he was human after all.

"Watch out for her," Charles told him. "Remember what I told you. She may not be your sister anymore."

Jarod nodded, but inside he wanted to snap "I'm ringing Sydney!", and then slink off to do just that.

He remained right where he was, and forced himself to eat something, to act entirely normal.

* * *

"Come on! Is there nothing on television these days? I'm dying here!" Emily flipped through channels, remote in hand, heaving a tired sigh. She sat back on the motel room bed, switching off the television. After a couple of long moments of swinging her legs about idly, she glanced across at Jarod. "Hey, bro. Explain to me the viewing public's fascination with reality TV one more time. I don't think it sunk in the first time. I shouldn't say that. I mean the first couple hundred times! Reality TV's boring," she whined. "I'm bored. Super duper bored!"

When he didn't reply, she began to frown, nodding her head in his direction, though he couldn't quite make out what she meant by the gesture.

She returned her eyes to the blank television screen abruptly. "Oh my God! I have the urge to watch _Twilight_. For some reason, the general atmosphere of doom and gloom just really appeals to me. Coupled with the rugged yet classically fine scenery, I just can't resist any longer! Stop me! Somebody, please! I think I should be tied up – for my own good!"

She smacked a hand to her forehead and pointed to Jarod again.

He shrugged, now completely confused, and she gestured talking on a telephone with her hand.

"Don't you want to call somebody?" she mouthed.

He nodded. "Professional help, baby sister," he mouthed back, and she plastered a hand to her mouth, flopping back on the bed and laughing.

"Ah, Edward, you strange, skinny little boy!"

Jarod crossed his arms. "I'm sensing you're not a Twihard, sis."

She sat up on the bed. "I'm not a hater. I happen to think Edward is very endearing, despite the fact that he reminds me somewhat of Cedric from _Harry Potter_, who dies, I think. At least he's not typecast. He's already dead in this one. You see, that was a smart career move. Strange, skinny girl meets strange, skinny boy and they fall in love. Come on now, don't you think it's even a little bit cute? Just a little bit? You have a hand, to cover your face when the gory bits come on. And real life is gory, even if vampires aren't real. It's an allegory, big brother. For... deeper things. Important, real things."

Jarod gave her a funny look. Why was she even telling him all this, exactly?

"Actually, I really don't ship Edward and Bella. I'm an Edward/Alice girl. Hmm." She sighed, wistfully. "Jasper can go to Hell, where his smug little ass belongs. He smiles too much. Especially at Alice. You know what I just thought of? I'll tell you anyway, since you don't seem to care all that much, I was thinking, what's a cool mash-up of Edward and Bella's names, you know, like for their pairing, and I just thought: Bedward! You know, I think that's a little too naughty for the younger viewers at home, but it has a certain ring to it I find myself humming along with." She blinked. "Actually, you know what, I think the haters would go right along with that, very happily. They seem to think the absolute underlying emphasis of both the books and the movie series is lust. I don't know if they're right. I just watch it for the trees!"

Jarod threw his hands up and mouthed, very clearly, "What?"

Shaking her head at him, Emily mouthed back, "Sydney!"

"You wanna talk _Twilight_?" Jarod challenged. "Let's talk _Twilight_!" He was not that easy to read, damn it! She was just pulling at strings to see what came loose, but once sprung, he didn't just give in. He was a Pretender and he had his pride! He would Pretend, keep on keeping on, as he'd been trained to do, and because he could. He hadn't actually seen the films yet, but after Emily's quick run-down of the franchise, he was sure he'd be able to come up with something workable, if not passable. Besides, Emily might have been a writer and a former journalist, but he was a Pretender, and he thought his expertise trumped hers any day. She'd surely agree with him, right? Even if he had no idea what he was saying, she wouldn't want to shame him like that, or ridicule the legacy of their family's bloodline. She'd apparently let Lyle get away with a whole heap of crap, and the guy wasn't even her brother!

It was, Jarod conceded, worth a shot. Nobody seriously defended their booty call over blood, did they? There was plenty more booty where they'd come from, but you only had one family.

After much debate, and much laughter on Emily's part, Jarod gave up, startled by the loud thump when Emily fell off the bed and resigned herself to giggling like a mad woman.

Needless to say, he decided that, the next chance he got, he was going to study up about _Twilight_ so he could hopefully try to patch up, if not repair, his wounded pride. After not smiling for months on end, Emily's sudden optimism and bubbly demeanour frightened and unsettled him. It would be a relief to have something to take his mind off his worries, if only for a short while.

Trying to get to sleep later, he hoped Emily was right about Charles. As much as it hurt to think Charles might suspect him, his own son, over a stark-raving lunatic who was, in truth, _very_ good for it, it was also coolly logical. No stone left unturned, no suspect left unexamined. His father was a Pretender, like him. His skills weren't finely honed through years of forced labour, degradation and mental and physical torture, but he'd had a hard life, and that was training enough, it seemed. Jarod wasn't even angry, he just really wanted it to be the case that Charles was just doing his duty to the best of his ability, and not planning on how to kill off his family because they, just possibly, could have been monsters, just lying in wait for the right moment to pull out their apocalyptic arsenal.

And, heck, nobody was really even saying his dad had overlooked the possibility that it might be Lyle, he just wasn't focussing his investigation on someone he believed to be dead right now. He could always come back to that lead at a later date. He didn't care so much about Lyle, but Jarod was his son and he cared a whole lot about him. That was why Charles was so determined to get to the truth, Jarod told himself. Because his dad loved him.

Anyway, not even he suspected Lyle. It was too crazy, and he was dead, wasn't he? The Tower killed people, for real. Really for real.

And they stayed dead.

* * *

In the morning, they had pancakes and coffee for breakfast at a diner. Jarod waited until Emily had excused herself to retrieve her puffer from the car, before glancing away from the television and meeting his father's eyes. "I told Emily what you'd told me about the Bug, about our suspicions that it might be Lyle, and she said she thinks you're really just testing me; that you're hoping it's not me, but that you can't rule me out either."

Charles scowled. "She's trying to throw you off your game, boy. Get you all conflicted inside. I told you to watch her, didn't I? And why, on God's green earth, would you go and say something like that to her, just tell her our business like that?"

"She's my sister, Dad. And I'm starting to think she has a point."

Charles stabbed at a piece of pancake on his plate. "It's a possibility," he replied casually.

"She's right, isn't she?" Jarod had wanted her to be right, but now that he'd heard it for himself, he was suddenly filled with rage. "Just because the Centre saw fit to treat me like their own personal chew toy doesn't give you any authority to do the same! I trust you! You're my dad, for God sake!"

"Could be any one of us, son," Charles replied simply. "Your mother even. Love of my life. Your little sister. Or that Parker girl."

"Or maybe it's just crap! Fictitious crap!" Jarod growled. "Designed to scare weaker minds into submission and keep people divided so they can't see what's really going on about them!"

"Maybe it is, but you're not the only one I was testing, Jarod. I was testing Emily too. The results aren't too encouraging, either."

"You think she's working for the Centre? Furthering their agenda?"

"Or that man of hers," Charles suggested.

"The one who's dead?"

"That ain't confirmed. Not to my mind."

Jarod scowled, looking back down at his plate. "She's not working for anyone, Dad. She's a good person, a good mother and a good sister and a good daughter. And I'd appreciate if you laid off her for a change. Why do you have to be so hard on her? We don't get to choose who we have Convergence with. You know that."

"But we do get to choose who we love," Charles told him. "And she chose wrong."

"She was a girl!"

"She was a stupid girl."

"She was just trying to survive as best she could."

"By falling for a lunatic like that." Charles laughed. "Sounds like an awfully strange way of just trying to survive to me, Jarod."

"Can you just talk like my father? You're not some cocksure cowboy."

"I could be. Maybe I'd like to be able to pretend for once. Just to be someone else, without all of these crazy, unsolvable problems dogging me at every turn."

Jarod shook his head, his face dark.

"You do it. Why the hell can't I, son?"

"It's not you."

"You don't know me half as well as you think, boy."

Jarod rolled his eyes, then, seeing Emily on her way back over, he returned his eyes to the TV. "Just leave Emily alone! And don't you ever talk to me about hurting those kids or Emi again. They're a part of this family now whether you like it or not. So you just better ease up, cowboy, or else I'll have to have words with Mom, and I know you don't want that."

"Your mom's not a fool, boy. She understands the way it is, even if you don't. She understands that sometimes you gotta sacrifice the ones you love for the things neither of you can do without. Like livin' to see another day!"

"Even if that means sacrificing their basic human rights? Their right to be loved by their family?" Jarod laughed. "Thanks, Dad, you're a real role model. Real courageous."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy."

"No, I don't have kids of my own, but I damn well know what I'm talking about!" Jarod snapped, thumping his fist on the table so that the cutlery rattled on the plates. He was sick of his dad being such a jerk, and it was time it ended.

Emily stopped by the table, looking worried. "You all arguing over me, or is it something else?" She caught Jarod's eyes, and smiled at him a little bit. "I'm sorry. I'm always the one who ruins a good thing."

Jarod stared at her, his eyes dark. "That's just bullshit, Emily. The only good thing you ruined was your own. All you did was tell the truth, Em. You did the right thing. I don't blame you for anything. You're not the one lying to my face when I get up in the morning, and toying with me because someone's gotta pose the hard questions and see that justice is served! We're a family – not a God damn state at war with itself!"

Emily shook her head. "I let myself be taken in, Jarod. I signed up for all of it. I knew what I was getting myself into, and I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't help myself. I am to blame for that. Nobody but me, Jarod."

"You had no idea when you went away to that school what it would turn out to be! You were just a child. An innocent child!"

"That was a long time ago. There was no reason for me to do what I did. He didn't threaten me, or the people I care about. It was pure selfishness. I did it because I wanted to. It was my choice, Jarod, and now I have to live with the consequences. If Dad doesn't trust me because of it, then so be it. I don't hold that against him. I did a stupid thing."

She turned to Charles, looking straight into his eyes. "But, Dad – that was me. It wasn't my kids. If you could show them just one small mercy, one token of your shared humanity, do them the courtesy of not blaming them for their parents' mistakes. And don't you ever threaten their lives again, truthfully or just theoretically, Dad! The measure of forgiveness in my heart is running precariously low, and I shudder to think what might happen when one day it runs out. I love you, but those are my limits. _Dad._ Now you know, you can stop frigging me and my kids around and get on with the shit that's really important – like living to see another day!" She turned and walked away, didn't so much as pause to hear Charles's comeback, if he had one.

Jarod watched her through the glass. She didn't head back to the car; she was obviously headed off for a walk to calm herself down some, if such a thing was even possible.

He looked at Charles. "She's right, you know. You've gotta stop blaming those kids for things they didn't do."

* * *

"Call them, if you don't believe me!" Parker huffed, glaring at the wall instead of Cox, whose office she had been called into following the Centre finding out about her little excursion to Grace Miller. "My blood sugar was low, I fainted. I'm fine now, as you can see. The baby is fine. We're all fine. I'm hypoglycaemic, not completely out of my mind! Call them!"

Director Peel, standing by the door as if he thought Parker might fail to notice him there, nodded, and Cox sat down to dial Grace Miller hospital and confirm Parker's story. Hearing for himself that she was fine, and everything she'd told him appeared to align with that she'd told the medical staff at the hospital, he sighed and returned his gaze to Parker. "We'd still like to run some tests, just as a precautionary measure."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course, doctor." Secretly, she wanted to get up in Cox's face and scowl, "Do you like being this imbecile's little bitch? Do you like it like that, huh? Well I don't, dumb ass! Why don't you just accidentally back him over one night with your expensive BMW? I'll even walk by in some skimpy outfit you can say distracted you, for just a moment, if you like. Everyone knows men are only human too. If he lived, he might show you a little more respect."

* * *

She was not going to confront Oliver about things just yet, Parker decided. Before she did anything crazy like that, she would track down Mia Halpen and see if she couldn't get her to take Oliver back. To be a point of grounding for him. If she could set that in motion on its way to a favourable end, she would then see about Oliver and Eddie.

Convergence was a tricky plank to walk, but she knew enough to know you didn't just dive into the deep end and expect to be able to swim back to the shallow end and safety. There was a process, a set of stages. The bond was at first erratic, demanding, mutable, so it had to be defined, restricted. If Eddie and Oliver chose, to begin with, to channel their bond into a respectful friendship, then in theory it should be possible. But that was in theory, and providing that both parties had the strength of will that such an undertaking required, because it would not be an easy road to walk.

After she the car accident that had ended not only her stay at Sin Eleeswa and her relationship with Sam, but also the lives of her unborn baby and her best friend, Miss Parker had rejected anything to do with love, had rejected even her Convergence partner and their bond, and though such as thing was not theoretically possible, the artificial twin bond she had shared with Lyle without her even knowing it had allowed her to transfer that Convergence bond onto him, at the exact stage it had been when she and Sam had last seen one another, when Parker had believed herself to be in love with Sam, her One, and Sam had believed himself to be in love with her and ready to do anything, anything at all for her, including making her his wife.

And when, later on down the track, after the loss of his own Convergence partner, Lyle had met Sam, they were seemingly thrown into a relationship they had never had to a degree that they could scarcely imagine, much less fight, and if they had chosen to do so, even that would not have helped, because there had been no gradual winding down between Parker and Sam, just an abrupt end, and now that that end was once more a beginning, everything fell back into place as it had once been with no regard for the fact that everything wasn't exactly as it had once been.

It was only after fighting with it for so many years that Lyle was able to alter the nature of Sam and his Convergence bond to include a friendship of sorts, and things like respect and tolerance. Sam, however, realising that Lyle was not as committed to him as he'd seemingly made out and that in actuality Parker had been his Chosen all along, decided to break from anything to do with the both of them and move to another state to begin his life over. And somehow, despite his Convergence bond having been transferred to his original and true Chosen, Miss Parker, that was okay, because Lyle had worked with Sam to make it okay, before everything went to hell again.

Now, Eddie and Oliver needed to do the same thing, to work with one another to form something agreeable to the both of them, but Parker wasn't sure that they could be held responsible enough to even attempt it. If things went wrong, they would go wrong in a bad, bad way, and she wasn't willing to risk that. Eddie was still too young, and Oliver wasn't even in command of his abilities. It was a disaster waiting to happen, simply put.

And that was where Mia came in.

To find Mia, Parker called in a favour and put Broots on the case. Two days later, he'd found out the woman's private e-mail address, where she lived, and a list of her various phone numbers. Parker chose to call her and ask her about meeting at a fancy restaurant in Dover for lunch. Luckily, Mia wasn't all that resistant.

* * *

Seeing that the woman she'd come to meet to talk about her old acquaintance, Oliver, was pregnant, Mia seemed to pale, as though she suddenly thought herself to have been caught out by the man's wife. It wasn't until Mia had taken a seat primly that Parker explained to her that Oliver was her twin brother, and that he really hadn't been himself of late and she suspected it to have something to do with her after hearing him speak her name in his sleep.

She was playing up the truth, but Mia didn't need to know that. Parker had seen the pricey diamond engagement ring adorning the younger woman's hand, but she'd also taken notice when Mia had described Oliver as "sweet" during their phone conversation. Clearly, Mia didn't find Oliver threatening and may even have held feelings for him beyond the platonic. But, playing it cool and getting more of a feel for the woman, Parker didn't mention that she was hoping to convince Mia that Russo was little more than a pleasant distraction and Oliver was the real man for her until after the main course, when dessert was arriving.

Mia surprised her though, choosing that moment to show her resistance and shook her head silently, saying nothing because she probably didn't trust her voice, in that moment, not to betray her the way the little rosy patches on her cheeks were betraying her.

Parker told her how he wasn't sleeping well, and how he was drinking a little too much wine of a night, and most importantly, how he seemed to be pining for her, how, though he tried very hard, he just couldn't seem to let go of her and all that they'd shared.

Mia left her dessert untouched and walked out on her, straight into the pouring rain without so much as an umbrella or an overcoat.

Oh, there had definitely been something there, Parker decided. Something a little more than sweet, something that, now that it was over, stung all over again, just by the mentioning of it.

* * *

Parker was tired of having Oliver under her feet when she returned home each day, so, on a clear but chilly day, she ordered Oliver to pack up his things because he was moving. When he asked where she planned on sending him to, she told him that she had held onto the crummy little town house her former lover had called his place of residence, and intended on dumping him there. She would not have to pay the bills any longer because they would become his business, she wouldn't continuously be tripping over him, figuratively and emotionally, and it had a rather charming view of the ocean, if one was prepared to take a trek through the part across the road, of course.

When Oliver still hadn't clued onto her little moment of gentle ribbing, she said, "Lyle used to live there. I'm sure it has running water, and I'm guessing he never actually murdered anyone there."

Oliver's answering look was a little like pure terror, but she smiled and patted his nose, assuring him that it would be fun, and he would safely be able to invite any lady friends he might like back to his without his twin sister finding out about every single one of them and keeping a running tally along with other pertinent details such as height and hair colour.

Oliver didn't find her attempt at humour very humorous, but ended up, instead, looking sort of queasy. Parker pretended not to notice.

She had been there before, she said, and it did actually have running water. It was in a nice neighbourhood where people didn't regularly try to mug you as you were walking to your car, and neither did they graffiti your front door with all manner of disturbing imagery.

* * *

It seemed strange to Parker how familiar the place felt, when she stepping inside and peered around just to make sure everything _was_ in order. Empty, aside from the few books she'd left in the bookcase in the lounge room, and the dishes and utensils in the kitchen, all neatly put away in their proper place.

"There's even some light reading material," she told Oliver, of the books, "if you're partial to mathematics."

Taking one look at the titles, Oliver promptly made up his mind that he was not partial to the same kind of mathematics that Lyle apparently had been. Irritably, he said, "I thought you said he was a Field operative."

"Sometimes."

Oliver gestured dirtily to the books, as if they begged to differ.

Parker leant a bit closer, then a bit closer again. "Theoretical... Right, um," she nodded, smiling, "a hobby."

"Along with murdering people, apparently," Oliver scowled, and Parker refrained from the urge to nod.

"Don't mind the spider in the bathroom."

"The what?"

"You can paint over it if you want."

"The what?"

She shook her head slowly, fixing him with a look that said she thought it plainly obvious 'what'. "Artwork."

"In the bathroom?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Gee, I don't know, Sis. Maybe the moisture in the air, or the rapid switching of temperatures. Artwork likes a _stable_ environment!"

"It's on the wall. It's not really that artsy. It might actually be graffiti. It's a bit creepy, but not too creepy. If you don't _stare_ at it, it'll be fine."

Oliver scoffed sarcastically. "A spider?"

Parker gestured with her hands the relative size of it.

He shuddered. "Strange lovers you have, Sis."

"Strange lovers you have, Brother."

He didn't say anything to that but marched upstairs to examine the creepy spider in the bathroom for himself. "Ugh! Gah! As unsightly as I had imagined."

Parker patted the wall, seemingly unaffected. She didn't think it was unsightly, it was just a spider. "Don't hate the spider, Oliver. It is your friend."

He scoffed, and walked off to see the bedroom, turning back to Parker when she came in after him. "Nobody was murdered in here, were they?"

She glanced around at the bare walls, shook her head. Laughed. "No, no. I don't think so."

Oliver's mouth all but dropped open. "You don't _think_ so, Parker?!"

"Well," she frowned, "you're the Empath, Ol."

"Former Empath!"

She ran a hand over her hair, glancing around the room once more. "It looks fine to me. Oh, look," she appeared at the window, "and you have a little courtyard. Cute, right?"

Oliver spared a single glance at the window, noted the factory on the other side of the wall, and walked out of the room.

Parker sat down on the bed, stifling a yawn. "It's not _that_ bad."

She found Oliver down in the kitchen, having brought in the most of his boxes of things already, and smiled. She darted a look at the refrigerator. "We meet again, Fridge."

"Just," Oliver drew a hand across his mouth, gesturing zipping something up, and shook his head, "don't!"

"You don't have to stay. We can find somewhere else. With no factories."

Oliver laughed darkly. "Well I'm here now, aren't I?"

She looked away from him, back to the cardboard boxes on the table and the floor. "Prickly much?"

* * *

Parker sighed, drumming her finger on the tabletop in the kitchen. Oliver was making coffee, or attempting to.

"Would you stop thinking about him," Oliver snapped irritibly, from the counter by the sink.

"He was my lover. Butt out."

"Was not."

"That's what you think, isn't it?!" she bit back.

"I'm only kidding. I can see that as much as you were in love with him, you're still a woman of morals. You wouldn't stoop that low."

Parker snorted. "I almost did once." She hadn't told anyone that before, not even Sydney, but heck, now she had.

"Yeah right." Something in her silence made Oliver look at her a second time, more properly, and he was silent for a long moment. "Did he...?"

She shook her head, not even scowling. "No. I was wise enough not to let on. I still..." She sighed. "Anyway, he had someone else, didn't he? Unbeknownst to the rest of us."

"I heard at work... rumours, really... that he was after you," Oliver aired.

"I suppose he was. I was born first. As if he was about to forget that."

"I meant... romantically," Oliver said, in a tone of slight disgust. He hadn't been able to think of any other way of putting it that wouldn't offend her.

"Try getting him to spell that, Ol. The boy didn't know the meaning of the word 'romantic'. But it's true, what they say. He thought we might be lovers. I didn't."

"You came around, here? To see him?"

"Yes. I am a grown woman, Oliver."

"Why?"

"He was my brother."

"Don't you mean you thought he was your brother?"

"Daddy liked him. Both of my fathers, actually. Official and biological. Ostensibly. I was to be civil, where possible."

"I would have punched him in the face."

"No you wouldn't. Sweeper, Level Five. He'd have had your ass on the ground in wink. Smiled, too. He was like that. Insufferable, when the mood took him. Pleased with himself."

"Pleased with what?" Oliver scowled darkly. From what he'd heard, there was nothing to be pleased with. The guy had been an asshole, plain and simple.

"He was an Empath, Ol. It's all about the appearance of normality, of coping. He wasn't, so he pretended that he was. It was more glamorous. Who'd want someone like him anyway, if they knew who he truly was, underneath? How sorry and pathetic and lonely he was."

Oliver frowned. "You're not... sorry and pathetic and lonely, Parker," he said softly.

She laughed, just so. "I didn't say that _I_ was."

"Your tone implied it, love."

"Oh well. Each to his own, Ol."

Oliver frowned, crossing his arms wordlessly.

She smiled. "Ah, you've learnt a few tricks from our esteemed colleague, Dr. Sydney Green, have you? Why waste your effort going after the fish, when you can wait for it to get all nervy and worried and paranoid and come to you, wondering why you're not coming after it." She tossed her head. "Very cute. And I must say, not my lover's style at all."

"He wasn't your lover, Parker."

"You don't know that. I might've lied."

"No."

"Ah, so now you're a mind reader?"

He shook his head, licking his bottom lip to moisten it. "Wouldn't want to be."

"I guess not. I might frighten you then."

He stood up straight abruptly, a look near to outrage crossing his face. "What is it with you today, Parker? Why are you even still thinking about this guy? He's over, ended. Finito. Don't you get it? You're never going to see him again." He stared at her, imploring her to just disagree, to say something, anything, to object.

She touched a hand to her head. "I still see him, Oliver. Every day."

Oliver launched himself away from the bench he'd been leaning against, shaking, and grabbed a hold of her arms as if to shake her out of her strange mood, his eyes glimmering with suppressed emotions, anger, fear, caring.

Before he could say one word, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him, with absolutely no intentions of starting anything – they were siblings, after all – but rather, merely to silence him. She could be a little too daring at times, but this, she thought, wasn't daring, just a bit cheeky. A little _I got you back_ for all of his unhappy comments about her supposedly unhealthy obsession with Lyle.

She didn't expect that she would pull him closer, her arms coming up to drape over his shoulders and wrap around his neck, or that he would kiss her back and she would want him to. He was, she had decided, _her_ twin. But, well, it just happened that way, and once it had, she found she had no will or way to stop it.

His mouth on her neck, her collarbone, her breast, it all felt like heaven.

* * *

Silvie had gone out to the supermarket for some things. It was the weekend, so it was no big deal. She had had a stressful week, had found it hard to sleep and had been having nightmares quite regularly, but she felt as though she was making it through. She wasn't falling down too badly.

She rounded the corner with her shopping basket, remembering that Jethro had asked for apple cinnamon Pop Tarts, when something made her stop, and look up.

A woman was standing a short way away, holding a little girl close to her chest and holding, with her other hand, the hand of a little boy.

Silvie stared at the woman for a long while, wondering why she was also staring at her, saying absolutely nothing, but just watching her. Silvie blinked. "Mommy?"

And that was when Emily smiled.

* * *

"I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself, Sis," Oliver said, a faintly regretful tone in his voice, but smiling nonetheless, and she snapped out of the SIM she'd inadvertently slipped into, only for a moment. "You can do so much better than Lyle," he went on. "You don't need someone who's controlling and only wants to keep you in his shadow, locked up. You need someone who'll see you for you, and love you for it, who'll allow you to grow. You deserve that. You always have." He pressed a kiss to her head, his anger fading away finally, and Parker though that Mia had been right, Oliver was sweet. Too sweet for his own good.

And if she really opened herself up to him, she would have scared him.

She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "I'm glad _you_ see it that way, Oliver, but I'd be even gladder if you made that coffee now. I think I zoned out everything you said just then. I'm sorta beat. I see an Oliver-shaped blur, some mouth action going on, but the rest was just unintelligible nonsense. There might have been something about a unicorn, and some prancing pixies..."

He laughed good-naturedly, patting her arm. "The pixies you got right, Sis, but I don't think I mentioned any mythical shining steeds. I'll get right on that coffee. Stuff is starting to look suspiciously sparkly around the edges, but that may just be the sleep deprivation. What am I prattling on about now? Did I just say pixies aren't real? How silly of me! I love Tinker Bell."

"Tinker Bell's a fairy," Parker told him, with a grin.

"She is?"

She nodded.

"Coffee," he said. They both needed coffee.

Since the traitor had murdered her lover, stopped his heart clean and laid him down gently on the floor, without ever uttering a single word, for her to stumble across on her travels, she no longer had anyone to torment and torture on a nightly basis and she had been sleeping very badly for it. She stabbed the knife into the thing's shoulder and twisted, watching as blood and gore and whatever else that cared to tumbled out, but it didn't delight her, as it had when it had been her lover whose blood she was spilling, it was merely something to do, a necessary step to figuring the awful, traitorous creature out.

It had done a bad, bad thing when it had chosen to disguise itself as it had, to try to trick them into thinking it normal and just another, like the rest, but the worst thing it had done, by far, was to deprive them of Noah, their shining star, to try to fool them into thinking it was theirs what they had once lost and then, so happily, recovered, and then, undoubtedly through no fault of its own, reveal itself to be nothing but a filthy, rotten, deceitful parasite.

The one it had once shared this body with, she was sure, was long gone. It was only a vessel now, a carrier for the Bug and its life force. It did not even interest her, though she'd always imagined this meeting with great delight. It was scum, just one of the universe's many rejects. It was not meant to be looked upon favourably. That was why, she felt certain, it had chosen this vessel in which to dwell. It had once been pretty, and in a way, it was even now, but what lived inside it was in no way pretty, in no way innocent. It was, if anything remotely human could be said about it, a self-involved fool. And it had trespassed on the wrong planet.

And it would live to regret it still more.

Once they had finished taking it apart piece by ugly, verminous piece, they would put it back together again, stitch it up haphazardly, and rip its soul to shreds and scatter those lingering ribbons to the four winds, as a warning to its kind, never, ever to come by this way again. This land was taken, and the sky was their canvas, their privilege, to find enjoyment or misery in as they wished. They did not want it dirtied up and sullied by the likes of this filthy race, whatever manner of abomination they were.

Yanking the knife out of the thing's shoulder and spraying blood about, she screeched and attacked it blindly, slashing away as if she were a mad thing, possessed, until Sweepers came to drag her from the thing, kicking and screaming and spitting obscenities all the while.

She was not happy that it had taken her lover from her, not at all happy. He had been special, one of a kind, and now he was dead. She didn't care that the body this thing had been inhabiting was biologically her lover's father, and that it may, in its own disgusting way, have been showing the Earth child a mercy – she only cared that it paid for what it had stolen from her. Dearly!

By the end of this campaign, it would wish it had never been born.

Her logical side, however, was happy that it had been born. Before all of the dying took place, or in between the dying and staying firmly, irretrievably dead part, they would learn what they could from this monster in disguise. Its mission and motives, how it was able to go about its evil business undetected for so long, if there were any more spawn it might have scattered about the globe, just waiting to come home to Daddy and the eager arms of the "very bad" company who was putting him up. Yes, children would be nice. Very nice, indeed.

As she waited patiently for news, she couldn't help feeling a little cheated, though. There had been children, lovely, darling little things with shiny names, until they were proven to be those of others, and merely masquerading as the evil creatures. It was, she thought, also very dumb, or else it thought itself something of the charitable sort, allowing these false children to live, for a short while, as it got its plan together and prepared for the end of the world. A sadist, then. That did sound about right for it. Her logical side added this twist to the story to the growing list of things she simply could not stomach about its kind, and the very reason they needed to learn a lesson or two from humanity in bowing down to a higher, more evolved power.

They were a nasty, sick, dimwitted species, she could see it already. She quite imagined they would look it too, if they even bothered with bodies of their own as opposed to merely snatching those of any passing creature close enough to corrupt and foul up. And they were not very smart travellers, for any tourist worth their money knew that you didn't travel alone, and you didn't travel without insurance. Most especially, the insurance of rights. But this thing held no rights here, and the nearest embassy for its people was... well, the filthy thing had yet to tell her how many light-years away. Not that she really wanted to know. In this instance, she was happy to remain ignorant. A rescue party, or envoy from its government asking for the reinstatement of its rights so that it might be tried for its crimes as a human being, would not be happening. It wasn't human, it was scum. And they didn't bow down to scum, scum bowed down to them and they wiped the floor with them, if they were feeling particularly merciful, before ending them for good. As an example against lawlessness, of course. They were an ethical, just people, after all, and they did their utmost to run a good house.

If only the vermin had declared itself to them in the beginning, they might have been "friends", but it had been so very sure of itself, and of their designation as lesser and not worth the bother. Yes, why bother, when nobody but those who you sought to oppress and hoodwink and slaughter cared less? Why not just do as you pleased, as long as it made you happy?

Clearly, it was inhuman. The sad thing was, it was too dim to realise that the pain and torment they had just began to put it through, if it somehow managed to survive it all, was all only for its own good, for the good of its spiritual growth. It would emerge from the other end of this all either eradicated, or emancipated. A new, more complete being. It would learn, finally, that they were all equal in the eyes of the universe, even it, and then, and only then, would it understand true respect, true reverence for the divinity and blessing of life itself, and feel itself privileged for all it had gone through to come to this great moment of insight, or enlightenment. If it did not, well, then it was clearly an idiot, and a hopeless case.

* * *

Jane really couldn't say why she'd agreed to help the traitor, and in doing so, turn on her company; why she had chosen to lie to the man she loved and would someday marry, as they were expecting a child together, but she had the vague notion that it was because she, despite it all, was a good person. And if she had chosen to do nothing, to simply look the other way when the traitor had begged of her, not to help him, but to help him help a child, she would have been all the more despicable for what she was, for being a Healer and practising as a Healer, and turning away in bitterness, disregard or neglectfulness, for not wanting to involve herself, to get her hands dirty. And she felt good that she had helped the child – a young man, really – but she did not worry any less, did not agonise any less, knowing that what she had done had been right. She had still betrayed her company, her signed on the dotted line "cause". She hurt, inside, but not as much as she would have, she knew, if she had abandoned and betrayed her spiritual cause, her life's cause. She was a Healer: her purpose was to help others, not to hurt them.

She just hoped they did not stumble across her treachery and hurt her, or someone that she cared for. If that happened, she wasn't sure what she would do, what she _could_ do. Her contract had been very clear, and very specific, on the subject of loyalty, and to break the oath that she had signed warranted the complete and total dissolution of her rights as a human being and as a free person. If the company wanted to kill her, or merely torture her for the rest of her living days, then they had that right, they were well within their rights, and there was not a thing she, or anyone else, the Triumvirate included, could do about it.

She'd known for some time that it was only her own fault. The world worked the way the world worked, whether it _should_ or not. She should have got a better lawyer. One with the capacity to actually make some semblance of sense out of her contract and advise her that selling her soul to the devil wasn't actually the best option, and there were other offers available, perhaps not within the same company, or with such a generous pay grade, but certainly with similar options for career advancement.

* * *

Aster stared up at the darkened ceiling, the claustrophobia of the bare room slowly suffocating him, but he couldn't move. He could never move when it was dark like this, he was just paralysed, his heart beating painfully in his chest, his nerves constantly on edge, his mind playing over and over again on any number of nightly horrors.

He had not asked for this, to be rescued, but it had happened anyway. For one moment, when he had recognised who the man was and then, when he had placed a hand on his chest to stop his heart, he had thought his father had come to give him freedom, freedom at last, but his rash thoughts and hopes were to be dashed soon after when he was revived by the Healer whose name he could not Read, despite his best efforts, who had told him to do nothing, because he was too weak and she could do nothing further for him, nothing to remedy this, and had then spoken no more.

Before, before all of this, he had been normal. Or as normal as a triple Possessor awaiting assignment could be. He had grown up in a household with his carer – his one, familiar carer and not a steady procession of strangers – and he'd even had "siblings", for a time, until they, too, were assigned and shipped off, as his brother, Gemini, was. Gem and he had been Sarah's "proper" children. But then Gem had had to leave, and not all that long after, he'd grown up and become Sarah's "right-hand man". And then his assignation to the Tower, to the Tower's own branch.

If he had thought, in his childhood, when he had stumbled across some of the darkest corners of the human race and shuddered, that it could not be worse, could not get worse, surely!, then he had been wrong, because it got a whole lot worse, a whole lot faster.

He was pretty, inside and out, and his abilities sparkly, and the person up top had decided to see him. The Top, Top, the high chairman, or supreme leader of the company and thus the known universe, who was, as it turned out, not a man at all, but rather something of a sick bitch. He didn't smile, wouldn't have done so even if she'd ordered him to, directive and everything, but he didn't have to: she'd already decided that she would have him, and he would remain here, in the branch, where his fabulous abilities could best be utilised. And where they would never be far apart, or far away from each other.

It was lonely, being the only one at the top of the mountain, and she was only human. Though her job demanded much of her, she did not believe that punishing herself would make her a better, more efficient, focussed worker; she allowed herself her little luxuries. Such as a lover or two, now and again.

He knew nothing, beyond what he had gleaned through his abilities, of loving another person in the particular way that lovers did, but he was sure she already knew this, so he didn't remind her. It would have been rude, disrespectful, and he did not want her to think him afraid, of her or of the task she had set out for him. The company could be cruel to those it found lacking, and they particularly liked the phrase "you've got to be cruel to be kind". They liked their people to be strong. The wisest move he could make was to be strong, to at least make the appearance of strength, outwardly.

He'd thought it wouldn't be so bad, that he could be kind and gentle, he had that inside of him, and he could be honest and also needy or giving, depending on whichever was required, so perhaps he wouldn't make such a terrible lover. He was funny or sophisticated, but he could appreciate things of wonder or delight, and he could put his appreciation into words and suitable actions, but he had mistaken Top's generosity. Both her generosity for words, most especially for choosing the accurate words as opposed to the more socially-acceptable or glamorous, and also her sense of respect, of what still remained one's own even after they'd given up and over their body and their will to another.

She was not impressed by his notions of making love. She wanted to be taken, and then, in what she saw as a just, fair move, to be the taker. She was loud and hard to please one moment, and savage and twisted the next, and the times she found really pleasurable were the times when she was spilling blood or cutting him open so that his insides would spill out onto the floor and there would be blood everywhere, over her hands and in her hair, her eyes positively alight with glee, and she could either choose to stay with him as his life slowly left him, to be kind or cruel, or to simply get up a leave the room.

She was not his lover, and neither was he hers. He was her toy, her plaything. And now, now he was alone. Very thoroughly ruined for the rest of his life and not quite old enough yet to say he didn't care because for as many misfortunes as he'd had, he'd also had some very wonderful moments, and completely, completely alone.

Outside the room he lay in, shuttered in a haze of near impenetrable darkness at this hour, outside the building in which the room resided, there were people. Other people. Lives just being lived. But none of those lives were his own, and none of the people who those lives belonged to would, or could, ever, in their deepest, darkest nightmare wish to grant someone like him into their lives, someone so horribly wrecked, because you discarded things that were broken, that could no longer be put to any good use, and you bought new things to use instead. If possible, you might have found a new, previously unthought of use for the broken thing, or simply relegated it to your recycle bin to be given, in the transformation of death or disfigurement or abandonment, a new life, but he did not think he would be able to be recycled.

It would have been better, nicer, if his father had allowed him to remain dead, to leave this unproductive, tortured life behind, but his father had been too hopeful, even then, to allow it. What he hadn't realised, or cared about, was that his son was not hopeful, had stopped knowing the mere concept of the word 'hope', of believing in it, a long time before he'd come along. The idea of hope, that you would get back up again and try again, if you fell or were knocked down, was so engrained in him as to have become more than simply a word, as to have become more than a notion, or vague comfort, but an institution, a legally-binding law itself, and if you had life still left in you, you were obliged to soldier on, to hold hope.

His father was a little bit screwed in the head, in other words. But then, it often happened that way for Empaths, so he wasn't really angry about it. He wasn't really angry about anything anymore, he just wished anything, such as the crazy but true autonomic system that came pre-installed with his human body that continued to allow (and _only_ allow) him to breathe, and therefore live, would bugger off and leave him alone to die in peace, or whatever else it was when it wasn't peace but it wasn't not peace.

As the hours ticked by, on another dreary, endless night, he gradually came to realise that if he wished to be left in peace, at long last, in death, that he would have to do something about it himself, to find some way, other than slowly waiting for the execution of the inevitable, to hasten his death.

He would have to get up out of bed and find a way to die. If he could have gotten up, then and there, at that moment of marvellous revelation, he would have, but he couldn't move for the life of him. He would have to wait for this night to be over, for the first peekings of daylight on a new day.

* * *

After a long, _long_ night of partying, and more partying!, Guri reached across to turn up the volume on the stereo system on her super BMW, her music of choice already blaring loud enough to wake the dead. She was beat, and she had probably had a bit too much to drink, but who the heck out here was seriously going to care if she crashed her car into a ditch or something going too fast around a bend? They'd probably just laugh at her, instead, and she was really, really done for. She really couldn't remember why she was driving out here in the middle of the night – or should that have been morning? – why she was "slumming it" like this, but since she'd already landed the role she'd desperately, desperately desired on "Grania", alongside the godly Jesse Diesel!, and she'd made a promise to herself as she was waiting, on edge, to be called for her audition, that she would take this opportunity, if she was lucky enough to be granted it, to not only meet Jesse and a host of other veritable hotties, but to really "work" on her art, to fine tune it, she figured she might as well keep it real. Even if it seemed pointless, at this ridiculous hour, and the dark crouching outside her warm, comfortable car as if to spring on her and do something really bad to her was sort of creepy. She was a woman of character, of her word. Her character was, like, a country person, therefore so too would she learn to master the time-honoured and ancient tradition of country-ness-ness, or whatever. And she just knew the dinky, little farmhouse she'd rented had to be around here someplace.

Trying to distract herself from the fact that she might be lost, and that Google Maps could have possibly steered her wrong a second time!, she sung, or rather did her best to sing along, to the music blasting over the speakers at top volume, and told herself she was notnotnot worried, at all, because she was a strong, independent, smart, qualified, outgoing, funny young woman, and most of all, she had drive! Although she was now starting to wonder if she'd had something else too, perhaps slipped into her hand by one of her friends and forgotten about a moment or two later once it was down her throat, washed down by some cocktail or other.

Suddenly, she really felt like she might throw up and start crying all at the same time, and she took her eyes off the road, for just a moment, to switch the stereo off because her head hurt too much to listen to it anyway, and she didn't much feel up to waking the dead if it meant fighting off zombies with bits of hay and mud caked to their dead, rotting corpses.

She only looked away for a tiny, tiny moment, but when she looked back at the road she saw there was a problem. Something, or someone – and she was really hoping for the someone, as opposed to a brain-hungry zombie – was standing there. There, where her car was going to be very soon if she didn't figure out which pedal made it stop – and fast!

She screamed and hit each of the pedals in turn, finally finding the right one to make the car slow down. Dust flew up all around her and she forgot, for a second or two, that it couldn't choke her to death because she was inside her car, but the car wasn't behaving as it should have, or maybe the road was the one not behaving, because the car was suddenly really unstable and all over the place, and it was still heading for that crazy zombie person, and- And she didn't want to die or end up running some person, who wasn't really, actually a zombie, down, to death! She just wanted the car to stop, damn it all!

And then it did.

The person wasn't standing on the road anymore, but she just knew she didn't want to know where they were really.

The sun was just beginning to rise and with the dust billowing all around the car, she thought it looked so peaceful, so serene, out in the middle of nowhere, she almost could have been happy, for a moment, that she was around to see all the serenity and beauty, but then she remember that she'd probably just run somebody over, and she started to sob loudly, kicking open her car door and stumbling out into the dusty, dim morning.

Turning her head this way and that, trying to make some sense of where she was going as she slowly navigated her way around the outside of her car, she felt even more nauseous than before, and the dust literally burned in her lungs and eyes, but she didn't give up because she knew if she did, she would hate herself for the rest of her life – because she would have to, wouldn't she? It was just what you did when you ran somebody over for no good reason.

Everything looked fine, and she began to panic. All she could see was car, road and more road. She couldn't see any dead body. Just as she was about to give up and – what? Call the cops, the FBI? Her mom, her agent? – she whacked into something and went pitching over whatever it was she'd tripped over. She landed on the hard ground with a scream and a moan and, crazily, she just didn't want to get up again. She started to cry, and then she got up anyway. If all she was going to do was bawl her face off, she could just as easily do that whilst getting up.

She hauled herself to her feet, tears still streaming down her face and mingling with the icky dust, and rounded on the thing she'd fallen over, ready to give it a piece of her mind for probably being that dead person who'd been so country-ness-ness that they'd been dazzled into stupidity by the awesomeness of her awesome car and allowed themselves to be run over, and then made her fall over and hurt herself.

It was a boy. She didn't know if he was dead, though. He didn't look dead, but that didn't always mean a thing. Squeezing her fists tighter at her sides, she stumbled closer to the boy and blinked back the tears that were making it hard to see, staring at him intently.

"B-boy?" Her voice shook when she spoke and she suddenly realised that it wasn't the only thing shaking, and her hands were really mucky, and the rest of her was probably fairly mucky too. The boy was also mucky looking, but not like her. He also sort of looked like he'd been kidnapped and held captive some place and starved for a while, 'cause he was skinny and his hair wasn't cute or just-got-up tousled. She was staring again and she chided herself for being so silly as to jump to the first most dramatic conclusion she could think of. She wasn't dumb and she knew real life wasn't the same as something out of one of those somewhat dreadful, underfunded direct-to-television thrillers she barely even watched (and then only because she needed to know how bad she could be before she really got a concept of just how good she could be, too, if she really tried). She really was being dense, and sort of mean, she thought. He was probably just a really poor person, and that was how some really poor people looked, even before they were dead.

The poor, dead boy choked and started to cough and she shrieked, leaping away from him, throwing her arms out in front of her to protect herself. "Don't eat me!" she screamed. "I'm not tasty! I swear! Even if I look really tasty, I'm really not! Please don't eat me!" She stared straight ahead of her, in the direction of the boy, but her arms annoyingly they kept waving around and it was hard to see if the boy was going to come after her and eat her or not. Finally, she had to put her arms down and she saw that the boy was sitting up and he'd stopped coughing but he still sort of looked like crap. But in a good way, she thought, because he was alive, at least.

She slowly edged back over to him. "I'm really sorry for running you over, boy. I... I mean... for nearly running you over." She didn't want to downplay the badness of what she'd done, so she quickly added, "Really, really nearly! And for hitting you with my car. Are you... I mean, are you okay? Do you think you're gonna live?" She stared at him then, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn't, she added, "I'm sorta... really tired, you know, and I thought... if you're okay, then maybe I could... like, leave. Or you could come with me, so I could call... like... someone for you when... I mean, but only if you like... when I get to my farmhouse. You have no idea, boy, but I am soooo tired!"

He grabbed hold of her hand before she could comprehend and leap back, and the tiredness and feelings of weirdness just evaporated. She yanked her hand back then, completely mortified. What the capital h, e, double l had she done and, bloody oath, what was she going to do now to make it all just go away?

She groaned, sure she'd made it her new year's resolution to stop taking drugs, and kicking herself for being such a sucker, then, once again, she remembered the boy. Young man. Person more or less her own age. She dropped her hands into her face. She was ruined! Everything she'd ever worked so hard for was ruined!

"Guri."

She thought she heard somebody speaking, but it was hard to hear over the sound of her future crashing down around her.

"I think I want to go with you. To your farmhouse."

She lifted her head out of her hands and stared at the boy, sure he had just spoken, and sniffed, wiping her grubby tears away with the back of her hand. "What?"

"Earlier, you offered that I might go with you, to your home. I think I want to do that."

She sniffed again. "Did you say my name?"

"Guri? Is that not your name?"

She nodded. All of a sudden, alarms bells started to ring in her mind. "How do you know my name, you... you... country person?!" She backed away from him sharply, her eyes narrowed distrustfully.

"I recognised you. From the magazine. You were on the cover."

Despite how creepy it was, she found herself smiling, remembering the photo shoot and the interview and the first time she saw herself on the cover of a glossy, dreamy magazine. "So you read my article?"

"No. I... I just saw your picture. I was in a hurry."

She tried not to look so put-out, but she actually was. Maybe he just didn't want to admit that he couldn't read or write? She supposed it would seem mean if she asked, or brought it up, so she just said, "I can pay you."

He frowned. "Why?"

"So, like... as a bribe. But in a good way! So... I mean... you don't tell the cops and the press and everyone I nearly ran you over and I hit you with my car. Oh my God, this is just so crazy! What is happening to me! Do you understand, country person? I have a career, a reputation. If anyone, ever, found out what I did, I'd be ruined! My life would be over!" She whined, stomping her foot. "I don't want my life to be over – even if you want yours to be!"

She suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth, realising how mean and insensitive she'd been. "I... I'm sorry!" she squawked. "I didn't mean that. I... I'm sure you don't really want your life to be over and you weren't... m-meaning for me to hit you when I did!"

The boy looked away from her. "I am sorry. That was very much what I was meaning. I did not think what it might cost you. I was... insensitive too. I did not think about you, or the person who would be driving the automobile that I wished to end my life, at all."

"You... you wanna kill yourself?" She stared at him, dumbfounded for a few horribly long moments, and then she got down on the ground, on the dirt road, and grabbed the front of his clothes, not even caring how yucky it was, and shook him. "You're so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"I have said I was sorry, Guri. Your vehicle appears intact, and largely unharmed. Now I am tired. I do not want to have to say again what I have already said. Are you unharmed?"

"No, you crazy country person!" she hollered. "I am not unharmed! You nearly made me kill you! I nearly killed someone! That's insane! Do you know how insane that is?!" She shook him some more, staring right at him with overly large eyes.

She sniffed. "Do all country persons talk so weirdly?"

"I do not know. I am tired."

"I feel your pain." She let go of his shirt and struggled up onto her feet. "I'm serious, I can pay you. I'll even let you stay at my place until you're rested. I think getting your wits back is gonna take a mite longer, but that's really none of my business, is it? As... as long as you promise not to try and do anything stupid! Like hurting me, or stealing any of my stuff! Or killing! Anyone; yourself included. Do we... do we have a deal, crazy country person?"

He lay back on the ground. "Leave me. I am fine. Go to your farmhouse."

She gawped. "What? No! I can't just leave you here, in the middle of the frickin' road, dumb head! That's crazy talk!" She bent over and grabbed his hand. "Get up! Don't be stupid and just get up before someone comes along and sees us here like this! Are you trying to fuck my life up, you lunatic?! Is that what you want, huh?!" She screamed nonsensically, tugging on his hand harder. "Get up, you idiot!"

"Please release my hand and I shall do as you wish."

She dropped his hand as if it had burnt her and glared at him as he stood up unsteadily. "Get in the car already!" she snapped. "Are you tripping, man? Didn't anyone ever tell you drugs were bad?" Shaking her head angrily, she stomped back to her car and opened the passenger-side front door, pushing the boy toward it. "No arguments! Get in the God-damn car." Then she stomped around to her side and climbed in, slamming the door after her. She didn't bother with her seatbelt, she just put her foot on the pedal and went. She needed a God-damn shower already – and some decent sleep!

She was never, ever taking drugs again. Not if this was the type of crap she had to deal with afterwards.

* * *

Guri sat on the front step of the farmhouse porch, watching the sunlight dancing in a nearby field and devouring a packet of crisps. The boy was sitting beside her, saying nothing. She glanced around to see if he was watching the amazing way the sunlight made the field just look super special and calming and bit back a growl. No, he was watching her! Stalker much? She resisted the urge to snap, "Freak!", and cleared her throat. "So, um, how come you know my name but I don't know yours? That's a bit crap, don't you think? I mean, your name isn't Person."

"Call me Aster," he said, still pretty much staring at her the exact same way he had been before.

"That's your name?"

"That is my name," he confirmed.

She shrugged. "Wanna crisp, _Aster_?"

"No, thank you."

She widened her eyes, leaning toward him menacingly, crisp packet in hand. "Don't be impolite, now."

"I am not hungry."

"Shut up! You are too hungry. You look like you're practically starving to death, so don't give me that crap, Aster!"

"Not fast enough, it would seem."

She gaped at him. "You're on about that again, are you? What the hickory split, person? _Why_ are you so insistent on dying?"

"I do not want to live."

She laughed, pointing a finger at him. "You're crazy, man! You're a crazy person! Cray-zee person! I dare you to eat a crisp."

"I will not eat a crisp. Unless you have a signed directive, authorised by the Top herself, I refuse to eat anything, crispy or otherwise."

She snickered at his miffed expression. "You're funny, person. Skinny, and damned crazy as a boogie board – boogie board, baby! – but funny." She got another chip out of her packet and crunched on it. "I'm not still tripping. I stopped tripping when I tripped over you. Or slightly thereafter. But who's counting, eh?" She laughed. "Not me! Oh man, I'm tripping." She reached over and took hold of his hand. "Untrip me, okay. I know you can do it. It's like, your magic power or something."

He stared at her blankly.

"We should be, um, we should be friends. You and I. Guri and Aster. Kinda sounds like a cool Seventies band, doesn't it? I know. 'Cause we're both awe-some, and we're not awe-less!" She laughed dorkishly. "Your magic power's not working, person."

"I have no intention of it doing so," he replied.

"Please? We're friends. Please?"

He turned his head to look away from her, and she felt herself steadying, becoming more like herself once more, cool and calm and collected, rational.

"Thanks, friend." She went on staring at him, even though he'd stopped staring at her, and waited for him to realise he still had her hand and let go of it. It was a moment before she realised he wasn't holding her hand, she was holding his. Impulsively, she leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek.

He jerked away from her abruptly, shaking his hand out of hers and scooting away along the step, staring at her as if she might have just produced a chainsaw and was waving it at him, a maniacal gleam in her eye.

She didn't say anything. He looked scared, and she didn't know why, or what _to_ say. She ate a crisp, waiting for inspiration to strike. She didn't even seem worried about mucky, sad, poor people germs. She just went on crunching on her crisps. After a while, she said, "You're not scared of me, are you? You're a big boy. I'll bet you can take care of yourself. Little old me, scary? What's up with you, boy? I'm just a girl. One medium-sized girl."

"I do not want you to kiss me again. Are we clear, Guri?"

She laughed. "It was just a peck on the cheek. My golly!" She snorted, even more amused than before, seeing his serious, grubby face. She put on a gruff voice, in effort to crack a smile on his face, and saluted: "Clear as Clearasil, Major!"

He didn't smile.

"Ooo! You're a frosty one. I can dig it, brother."

He stood up wordlessly, and she raised an eyebrow. "Anything I can get for you, Frosty?"

"I would like for you to locate the key with which to open that door so that I may go inside," he told her. "I would like to sleep now, and you would be advised to do the same."

"I haven't finished my crisps," she returned. "Later." Then she went on crunching, staring out at the paddock admiringly. She was really getting into this country folk vibe.

* * *

Lying in bed, Guri stared up at the ceiling, wondering why she was so fascinated by this crazy boy all of a sudden. He wasn't exactly hunky. Sure, if he hadn't been so skinny and so dirty and so scowly, maybe he could have been passable in looks, but he even talked funny, and he couldn't stop obsessing over how he'd so rather be dead.

Her eyes widened abruptly as two things occurred to her: she was interested in him because he specifically didn't want her to be interested, and because, crazy as it sounded, she was half thinking that maybe she could be the one who changed his mind about not wanting to live. She could be, like, his saviour, or hero or whatever. It was so romantic, and cool. Super, super cool.

She started to smile, thinking about the coolness of it all, and how even more cool it would be if she did save him and he fell in love with her. She'd never had someone fall in love with her before. At least, no one she knew in real life, or cared to know. She was always falling in love with guys like Jesse Diesel and Rad McKline and Liam Hemsworth, but she wasn't a dummy, she knew they would never fall in love with her back, even if they'd really met her and smiled at her and said she was a really nice person. Aster, if that was indeed his real name, seemed simple and plain and easy, all in a good way (apart from the suicidal thing), and it just seemed so cute to think that he might come to love her, because he was a normal person and all he wanted in return was a normal person, or maybe a pretty person who was nice to him and good in bed, and she thought, yes, she could be those things. It wasn't that she even really wanted it to happen, but the idea was just a really nice fantasy.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face and slept for a couple of hours, before she woke up from a nightmare in which she had decided she would seduce this naive country boy because she really needed the practise for when she met some real men, AKA, Jesse Diesel and Russo Daniels. In her dream (nightmare) she wasn't even upset that Aster was so suicidal, because that was a plus. If he killed himself, she would finally know what it felt like to lose someone she loved (obviously) and who loved her. Plus, there was no need for her to worry about getting all tied up in a committed relationship with him and missing out on scoring herself a real man because he was going to kill himself one day, wasn't he?

As much as she found him weird, she wasn't very happy about her nightmare. Anyway, she wasn't that sort of girl, and she didn't really know a whole lot about kissing or seduction anyway. She was still waiting for the Dummies Guide for that, or maybe it was already out and she just didn't want to know how it all worked because she was worried she'd turn into some kind of sex hungry, emotionally manipulative maniac. The only other option was that she was just old fashioned like that and was waiting for true love to come and take her by the hand, and if she already knew what to expect she was afraid she wouldn't be so impressed or it wouldn't be as spectacular, and she might even miss out on her One True Love because she was expecting someone else, or something more.

She scrunched up her face, supremely annoyed at the complexity of it all, and rolled out of bed, tripping on her bedding and landing on the floor with a loud, and somewhat painful thud.

She moaned. Today was not shaping up to be one of her better days.

* * *

She was staring at him, asleep on the floor. Not the sofa, the floor. She couldn't quite process it, or how he wasn't just skinny, he was weirdly bony, too, and he was still sleeping on the floor. At least she hoped he was sleeping.

She went to sit next to him on the floor, noticing, with relief, that he was still breathing, his chest was rising and falling and it all looked pretty normal. Then, for some reason, she started to wonder why he didn't have any bruises. She'd smacked him really hard with her car, must have, to knock him on his ass like that, but he didn't have any bruises. Not even a scratch or a graze or anything like that.

_Don't be paranoid_, she told herself, _he's not a pod person, they're not real. You watch too many horror movies._ It could merely have been the case that she couldn't see his bruises, not that they weren't there. She wasn't hoping that they were, but it was only logical, in honesty. She wasn't that thick!

She stole a quick peek at his face, but he seemed to be pretty much out of it. Slowly, cautiously, she reached out a hand for his shirt. She was just going to take a quick look, to make sure he was actually okay. Jokingly, she told herself it was to make sure he wasn't one of those weird mutated country people, like with feelers or anything, and she smiled. She needed the courage to do this, because, damn it, her hands were already shaking.

Just as she was about to grab hold of the hem of his shirt, something got hold of her wrist and held it there steadfastly. She screamed.

"Why are you trying to touch me?" Aster asked, and she had a feeling he was pissed at her.

She couldn't help scowling. "Well, it's sure as hokey not to cop a look! You're not that good looking. I just wanted to make sure you really were okay, all right. Like that you weren't slowly bleeding to death internally, in _my_ farmhouse!"

"And how would you know if I were, Guri?"

She glared at him harder, annoyed at how he said her name exactly the right way each and every single time. She yanked her hand free of his and pointed at the door sharply. "There's the door! If you want to do that, go and do it outside – not in my farmhouse! And not on my property, either! Creep!"

He sighed. "I am not dying, Guri. No more than you are."

She pushed herself to her feet, stalking away to retrieve her shoulder bag from the bedroom. When she returned, she handed him some money from her wallet and glared at him. "Just go. Get out. I don't ever want to see you again. I don't even remember what your name is. Leave, now, Person!" She was shaking with fury and she prayed he knew what was good for him and just left already, before she did anything stupid or violent.

He didn't argue with her, and he didn't, as she'd half been expecting, turn her money down. He took the money and walked out the door, closing the door behind him casually, not even bothered at all.

She thumped herself down on the floor, totally ignoring the couch, and bent over to hide her face, sniffling into her hands, rested on her legs.

She hoped she never saw him again.

* * *

The bay-side restaurant Russo whisked her off to for his birthday was gorgeous and magical and Mia could feel her heart in her throat more than once, over the course of the evening. She had agreed, just over a week ago, to marry him and become his lawfully wedded wife. Her head kept telling her it all seemed far too soon to be thinking of settling down, for her to know _for sure_, but her heart had been captured by the whirlwind romance and had fallen deeply. Though she could scarcely believe it herself some days, she really was in love with him.

Of course, it had taken some convincing, she thought with a warm, joyful smile, meeting her fiance's gaze across the table, the soft candlelight only accentuating the intimacy of the moment and the captivating way his smouldering, beguiling dark eyes held hers. The way he looked at her made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world, and she couldn't stop her heart from hammering in her chest and her stomach from turning to butterflies when he lowered his voice and whispered, for her ears only, "You look stunning tonight, Mia, my love." In the end, she'd realised that what she'd had with Oliver had been little more than a youthful infatuation, and driven by pure lust, but what she had with Russo was different, was truthful and timeless, and she had given him what he richly deserved, her heart and soul, relegating sweet, old Oliver to the past where, in honesty, she knew he belonged.

She was not that same woman any more, the same woman she had been when she had first laid loving eyes on sad, old Oliver. At the time, she had loved him for his kindness and his generosity, and she had thought him both these things and more, but she had slowly come to realise the truth, that he had gotten more from her than she had ever gotten from him, that to him, she had been a sweet and very gullible plaything, and a great lay, a nice piece of tight, eager young girl flesh.

She was never, ever going back to Oliver. She didn't blame him for what had happened between them in the past, despite his enormousness of the age gap between them and her painfully foolish naivety that even he had to have seen and recognised. He was an old man now, and though she shuddered at the thought of him remembering all the days they'd had together and enjoying them all over again, in his mind, she had decided that episode of her life was best left in the past. Oliver might still have been a dirty old man, but she refused to be his victim any longer. She was only sorry she hadn't seen it earlier, hadn't made a clean break from him sooner, but she couldn't be any less happy than she was now, here with Russo, her wonderful, caring new lover, and soon to be husband.

In her heart, she knew that Russo "got" her, and that he would take care of her, that no matter how many pretty girls he smiled at for the cameras, he was hers where it counted, in his heart, and she was his.

Earlier that day, they'd shared an eye-opening and enjoyable lunch out with Russo's twin sister, Twyla, and her boyfriend, Kavan, at the twins' country club, and Mia had learned she wasn't really the golfing type, despite the enormous fun she'd had, even when she was trudging through the thick of it, hunting around for _another_ ball she'd lost. It had just been so much fun, and Twyla was already a wonderful, outrageously outgoing and amusing, supportive, incredible friend.

Russo reached across the table and grasped her hand in her, sending all the breath in her lungs fleeing and her heart skittering, holding her gaze with his, so that the world sunk to just the two of them, and the rapid pitter-patter of her heart was like a beautifully orchestrated symphony to her ears.

She recalled with clarity the last time the world had felt this wonderful, and everything she could ever want so close at hand. It had been at the country club, when she'd been washing up after making such a dreadful mess of herself on the course, and Russo had ducked into the ladies' bathrooms, a decidedly naughty and demanding, lustful glimmer in his eyes that set her heart floundering in her chest and her senses fleeing at warp speed. When he'd gone to her, the touch of his sinfully hot mouth on the side of her neck feather light and yet somehow nothing less than explosive, she hadn't been able to deny him anything. He'd pulled her close to him and held her for a moment, meeting her eyes in the mirror just as he did now, across the table, and she'd felt as though she were enchanted, drugged. They'd fucked right there in front of the mirror, his eyes locked with hers the entire time, and the insistent bubble of doubt and mounting horror that had niggled at her gut, telling her they should have been more careful, she should be more careful, because anyone could come in at any moment, had only made her orgasm all the more vivid and earth-shattering when it had crashed over her in wave after wave of insanely intense pleasure.

She blushed at the still-fresh memory, and felt her thighs aching. She almost made the mistake of fanning herself, she suddenly felt very hot all of a sudden, but she caught herself at the last moment. She thought of reaching for her glass of wine for a sip, but Russo's dark gaze was consuming and all commanding. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his for a single, fleeting second. It was, after all, his birthday, and she didn't want to do anything to spoil his special day, such as clumsily knocking her glass of wine all over the table when she reached for it without really looking, so she set the thought aside for a moment, so incredibly happy to be here tonight with the man she was going to marry, sharing these magical few hours together.

Russo's open, sincere smile touched her heart, filling her with love for this man. "I am not ashamed to say that you make me very happy, Mia," he told her, in low, husky tones, and she glowed, the love she felt for him at once tender and painfully raw.

A moment later, his hand tightened around hers. "But you know what would make me even happier, my love?"

She smiled, her heart in her throat. Her voice came out as a whisper: "Tell me."

"I wanna see you fucking another man. I think it'd be really fucking hot."

Feeling faint all of a sudden, she thought she must have misheard. Perhaps it was the wine, messing with her judgement, and she was strangely hot. Breathlessly, her heart pounding painfully in her throat, she convinced herself that she'd heard him wrong. He was still smiling at her from across the table indulgently, but somehow it didn't feel loving any more and his gaze had begun to bore into her. Telling herself, again, that she was wrong, she finally found her voice. "What?"

The laughter died in Russo's eyes, leaving disappointment, cynicism and, worse than that, sadness.

Mia head begun to spin and she felt sick to her stomach, the once pleasant, dull throbbing in her ears now a full-blown headache.

"I'm gonna make you a star, Mia," Russo snapped, "but you really have to learn to take direction. I said: I'd really fucking like to see you screwing another man with wild, slutty abandon. Say, my sister's prissy, cunt of a boyfriend? I don't know what she sees in him, but I fucking hated him from the moment I laid eyes on him. Fucking mama's boy! Fuck, he's probably queer. I can see him screaming now, screaming for more whilst you take him up the ass with a massive rubber cock." He laughed lewdly, amused as shit, and Mia lurched forward, jolting up out of her seat.

Russo caught her hand in his before she could escape, his grip hard as steel. "I mean it, Mia, baby. I can make you a fucking star, if you do right by me. But if you fuck me over, bitch, I'll fucking ruin you! We straight, cunt? Everything make sense now?"

She nodded, feeling strangely light-headed, and he released his hold on her hand.

"Now fuck off and don't come back till you can at least fake a smile!" he spat disgustedly. "You're fucking everything up, you stupid, silly bitch! I don't know where you get the nerve, but no matter, I'll soon fix that. Hey, cunt! Didn't you just hear me tell you to Fuck Off?!"

She didn't wait to be told again.

* * *

Shaking from head to toe and huddled in a stall she almost hadn't been able to lock, her hands were that bad, in the sparkling, lavish bathroom, Mia dialled the only person she could think she'd be able to talk to at that moment.

Twyla answered on the first ring, but when Mia shakily relayed the nasty turn in her earlier conversation with Russo, his sister merely laughed, as if she couldn't really have cared less, or maybe she was pissed at her and thought she'd gotten what was coming to her, and snapped, "Better you than me!"

As Mia was struggling to process what her new best friend had just said, Twyla hung up on her.

She dropped her cell phone with a dull clatter and threw up the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. It hurt.

* * *

Oliver looked up from the book he'd been reading on quantum mechanics, from the shelf in the lounge room – a gift from someone named Lucy – and frowned, glancing down at his wristwatch for the time. It was late. Too late. The soft pounding sound came again and he set the book down on the kitchen table and walked to the door. "Hello?"

"Oliver? Oliver, can you please open the door?" Mia's soft, mournful voice travelled to his ears through the wooden door. "I couldn't think of anyone else to talk to and I know we don't really live close by anymore, but I desperately needed someone to talk to."

She was rambling and possibly, probably drunk, but Oliver didn't care. She sounded upset and afraid. He didn't need to think twice, he just ripped open the door and stood staring at Mia, waiting for her to do something.

She sniffed. She looked a mess. "Can I come in?" she whispered, and it hurt him that she thought she had to ask, that she was worried he might say no, and turn her away.

He backed away from the door and let her inside. He didn't care if he hadn't given her his new address, or if she hadn't asked for it but had somehow still been able to find him. All that mattered was that Mia was okay, that she felt safe, at last.

* * *

Mia sat at the kitchen table with a warm mug of milk tea in hand, staring blankly at the book he'd just been reading. She was yet to breathe a word; she just sat there, shivering despite the blanket he'd brought for her to wrap around her shoulders, holding her cup and staring at nothing, probably not even that book.

He drank his own tea silently, without asking any questions, and then, when he softly explained to Mia that he would be going up to bed now – it was rather late – she merely took that to mean she would be, too, and left her drink untouched, trailing after him wordlessly.

Lying in bed together, she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She was still shivering but she was warm. Oliver took this as an encouraging sign and closed his eyes, trying his best not to worry. Mia would talk when she was ready.

Harmony gazed up at the clear, blue sky, lying on the soft green grass in the meadow by Sydney's cabin. She'd had a fleeting notion that it might help her on her hunt for inspiration, but nothing was coming to her. She turned her head to the side, sharing a glance with Sydney. "We should go fishing."

"You want to go fishing?"

She shrugged at the disbelieving tone in Sydney's voice and said, "Yes, I do. I have never been before. It sounds pleasant."

A spot of breeze jostled some of her hair into her face and he brushed it away with a hand. "You, fishing?"

"No. I really want to throw you into the lake so you'll get all wet and grumpy and go off in a huff."

He frowned.

"All the better to admire your hot ass."

He hiccuped, and blushed. Sometimes he forgot she was a romance novelist. Sill of him, really, but it was hard to think when he was looking into her eyes and she was looking back into his, a playful smile dancing about her lips.

"Fishing then," he said, and they sat up, Harmony grinning the whole while.

As they walked back to the cabin, he glanced across at Harmony and said, "I can't believe you've never been fishing before."

She smiled, and replied, "I can't believe you've never been told you have a hot ass before," and then snuck an appreciative glance at his backside.

"For reasons unexplainable to me, I'm suddenly feeling a very strong empathy with Miss Parker."

Harmony laughed. "Sydney, are you trying to be funny?"

In all seriousness, he said, "Truthful, my dear, truthful," but that only made her smile more. On any other day, he probably would have been upset, or ticked off, in the very least, but today he was determined not to find fault with her in any single way. Today, he was her friend.

Today was the day Miss Parker and Oliver came to visit.

* * *

They had spent a relaxing and enjoyable morning fishing (they hadn't caught anything) and when a shiny dark car rolled up in front of the cabin, Harmony was smiling. She wasn't thinking about how shiny dark cars were a bad omen, in her world, she was simply happy. Sydney walked outside with her to greet Parker and Oliver, surprised when Parker, and then Oliver, allowed Harmony to hug them. He also gave Parker a hug, but Oliver he didn't try to push it with. He pretended not to notice the disappointment in Oliver's eyes when he wasn't offered a hug, too. Miss Parker had not told Oliver the story of Harmony and he, that he was their father and Harmony their mother, the former, long dead Catherine Parker. She had just said that Harmony was his girlfriend.

Reminding himself that he would not be able to address Harmony by Darcy when Oliver was around, Sydney walked back to the cabin with the others. He could see how taken aback Harmony was at Parker's pregnancy. He had told her of it, of course, but it was something different to look at, he was sure, and Harmony was (probably) her mother. Parker certainly seemed to buy it, he thought.

They all had lunch together at the cabin and when Parker took Oliver outside to have a proper look around, and "appreciate nature", Harmony turned to Sydney with a strange, soft excitement in her eyes. "Oh, they're so beautiful and grown up!" she whispered happily.

He slipped his hand into hers and gave it a small squeeze. "Yes, they are."

* * *

Parker and Oliver stayed for dinner and then they climbed back into the car and drove off once more, Parker waving for a moment. She'd actually allowed Oliver to drive her car for the first time ever and Sydney wanted to smile at this, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do that one, small thing. He didn't know why not, and it bothered him, but he pushed it out of his mind, wary of dampening Harmony's happiness.

They returned to the cabin to play scrabble by the warm fireside. Harmony kept cheating, using a word she claimed, with convincingly truthful eyes, was Irish. Even if it was, he still called it cheating. He let it pass. He liked seeing Harmony smile, liked just being with her without pretence or pressure.

"Mmm," he'd just finished compiling his word when Harmony returned her gaze from the fire, "you spelt it wrong."

He looked down at his word and frowned, shaking his head. "No, I spelt it correctly."

She laughed, looking again at his word. "Oh, well, it seems you're right. My bad."

He frowned. Something was on her mind. There was a troubled undercurrent to her energy. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, forgetting all about the game of scrabble. It no longer mattered, anyhow.

"It's nothing." She tried to dodge his questioning gaze, but when he didn't let up she gave up trying to find the letter she'd been looking for and sighed heavily, meeting his eyes once more. She was suddenly lost. "Oliver," she began uncertainly, sad. "I looked into his eyes and I didn't... I didn't see any fire. I looked and looked, but it wasn't there!" She stared at him as though she thought he could help her, could alleviate her fears, say that he'd seen it, it had just been hidden well.

He frowned. He saw the need in her eyes, but he couldn't lie. He couldn't say that he truthfully believed Oliver to have once been Noah, to have once been her tiny Theodore.

He settled on a compromise. "He's been through a lot, Darcy. You must remember that. Oliver is... a successive personality. He isn't your little boy anymore."

Harmony nodded, but she looked like she could cry. "He never was, was he?" she whispered.

"Miss Parker-"

Harmony's expression turned serious. "I'm not asking Miss Parker, Sydney. I'm asking you. The familiar spark, it wasn't there. That boy isn't my son. He isn't Parker's twin."

"I'm still not fully following you, Harmony," Sydney told her, frowning once more. "I don't understand what you mean by this 'spark'."

"It's not there, Sydney. When I look at Parker, I see it. It's just... there. But not with Oliver. The connection isn't there. They don't match, Sydney! There is nothing... nothing that links them!"

"They don't look all that dissimilar to me," Sydney told her.

"I'm not talking about physical appearances, Sydney," Harmony said, "I'm talking about inside. Inside, there is no lingering trace to connect them, to say they belong to one another. You were a twin, you understand what I'm saying! Please say you understand, Sydney!" she pleaded.

He nodded slowly, simply. "I thought that it might just be hidden, because of what Oliver had been through, but if you don't feel it either..." He sighed, allowing the rest of that thought to go unspoken. They both knew what he meant; they both knew Oliver was not Theodore.

"He should know. He should be told," Harmony said, after a long silence filled only by the sounds of the breeze from outside, and the quiet burning of the fire.

"You're assuming he doesn't already know?" Sydney returned.

She frowned sadly and closed her eyes for a moment, so that her thoughts might remain private or to rest her tired eyes.

Sydney nodded. He understood how she felt. It was troubling, and saddening. "What's your feeling in regards to Parker? Do you think she knows?"

"I'm unsure. I think she wants to believe. She doesn't want to fight anymore. It has become too tiresome. She wishes to hold onto something, some little hope. Even if Oliver is not her true brother, he can be, if it's something they both want."

"I don't think I could have replaced Jacob with anyone, even if I'd tried," Sydney said, just quietly.

She nodded, understanding. "The difference is, Sydney, Miss Parker did not know her brother from the beginning."

"No. She didn't. I do believe she knew him for a brief while, however, as her imaginary friend."

"I'd forgotten about that," Harmony said, silently thanking him for the reminder.

"She once told me that she would know her twin by how he made her feel inside," Sydney told her.

"How... how would he make her feel inside?" Harmony asked, a confused, worried expression in her eyes.

"Warm. Not alone. Supported."

"It's a nice thought, but I often felt alone, even when Ben and I were in the same room. It sounds to me much more like a lonely child's wishful thinking than reality. And it makes me very sad."

"I had assumed she was speaking of their bond, and her brother's Empathic abilities. That, if she should need some support, he would be there to provide it. The feeling she speaks of, of feeling warm, I had assumed it was much like the swell of emotion you feel at a particularly poignant moment. That, under normal circumstances, it was content to remain unspoken, because it did not need to be said, or felt in the forefront for it to be known as being true."

"Put that way, it makes a lot of sense. Not that..." She looked away, back to the fire. "I did not want to say it, but I feel that Theodore is lost to us. That he's dead. I am no longer upset about it, I'm only hurting myself by holding onto those demons, but I have a suspicion that Mel would be, even bolstered by her new-found sense of acceptance."

"I disagree," Sydney replied. "I think you're right about her sense of acceptance. I have a feeling she's finally ready to settle, to appreciate what she has, rather than pine for things she hasn't got and may never have. She's... I suppose you would say she's grown up."

"Are _you_ all right?" Harmony asked, and he glanced at her, surprised she would be thinking of him at a time like this.

"Yes, I think I am," he replied. "I think I have grown a little also."

Harmony reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. She smiled at him. "It won't be long now before the baby's born."

There was that, he thought. He offered her a smile in return. Yes, there was that.

* * *

Nicholas took a book out of the shelf in front of him, glanced briefly at the back cover, and returned it to the shelf. "I don't see why I should bother," he told Sydney. "He's not my brother, is he?" Sydney had been asking him to meet Oliver.

"Well, he could be," Sydney pointed out. He didn't want Nicholas to know what Harmony and he had decided last night. "Your half-brother, anyhow."

Nicholas was looking at another book. He opened the front cover and frowned, biting his lip. "Nah. It was that other one. The crazy one." He reached past Sydney and grabbed another book. "He was the brother. Felt it." He frowned again. "Crap." He returned both books to their respective places on the shelf and headed off for an adjacent aisle.

"You... you knew that I was Miss Parker's father all along?" Sydney got in Nicholas's way, staring at him seriously, demanding an answer.

"Yeah, Dad," Nicholas said, "I knew. It wasn't my place to pry. Can you... just..." He attempted to shush Sydney aside with a hand.

Sydney didn't move, his eyes dark. He couldn't believe he was hearing this, or that Nicholas hadn't said a single thing, dropped even a single hint.

"You know Parker and I talk. You know I talked to the crazy. Heck, why do you think I didn't just punch him the blazes out? I really wanted to. Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't want to freak you out. Oh, my Heavens!" He threw up his hands, shook his head and walked away, muttering darkly in Tam, the little he knew that was, more than likely, an endless string of laments and expletives.

"Nicholas!"

Nicholas shrugged, as if shrugging him off, and kept on walking.

Sydney ran to catch him up. "I understand that we hadn't known each other very long and you probably didn't want to do anything to mess things up. I do understand, Nicholas."

Nicholas spun back to meet his eyes, scowling. "What the heck do you want, Sydney? I can tell you're pissed, so don't even try to tell me otherwise."

Sydney shook his head. He wasn't looking to start an argument, or a yelling match. He was angry, but mostly just regretful. He understood why Nicholas mightn't have said anything. "What makes you say Lyle was Miss Parker's twin?" he asked, and Nicholas laughed.

"Why do you think? Why are you people so crazy? Can't you just decide on something and stick with it?" He shook himself, as if shaking off an unpleasant feeling, and rolled his eyes. "This is about Noah, isn't it? Mom told me about him. He was Parker's twin. But you don't think Lyle could have been this Noah kid. 'Cause _he_ wasn't some blatant murderer." He laughed. "Oh wait – he was! My mistake!"

"He did not mean for those people to die, Nicholas. He was a child. He was just a child."

Nicholas scoffed. "Convenient excuse," he merely muttered. Then, shrugging, "He knew what'd happen, though. Had to have known, right? He knew they'd die, Dad!"

Sydney didn't let himself be won over by Nicholas calling him Dad. "He was confused, panicked. These things happen, Nicholas. To everyone."

"I don't believe it. I. Don't. Believe it. He wasn't everyone, he was the Great Noah. He doesn't get to get out of it. He murdered 52 people, fair and square! And I happen to think he got what was coming to him," he scowled, and walked away.

Sydney didn't go after him. He dropped his shoulders, looking down at the floor. He wished they hadn't had this conversation, that he hadn't had to hear how cold Nicholas could be about his own brother, let alone a sad, tortured child. But, most of all, he wished he wasn't thinking Nicholas had a point. The boy had to have known, and he had Projected the negative feedback off himself anyway, had not just imagined himself above 52 other people, but had actually put himself above them, and then he'd killed them. And only, after it was done, did he question what he'd done.

Nicholas was right. It wasn't good enough. No excuse was good enough. Not for those 52 people and their families.

* * *

Russo perused Mia's Facebook page for any sign of activity, but there was nothing apart from her usual positivity-is-everything mumbo jumbo crap: "Believe in yourself today and the power of the universe will stand with you. You are powerful, you are filled of goodness, and you are never alone." Not a whole lot of Tweets on her Twitter account, either.

He frowned, annoyed. Twyla had assured him that what she really needed – to come out of her shell at her age – was the influence of a strong male who knew what he wanted and how to get it. She'd said Mia secretly wished to be dominated – to be told what to do – because she was too shy to go out and ask for it herself, but she really, truly did want it. More than anything! It was the "hot" thing right now, and if he didn't give it to her, he'd lose her to someone who could and would.

He'd always trusted Twyla's judgement in the past, but now he wasn't so sure. She was the female, the woman, she ought to have known, but he hoped he hadn't blown it all and pushed Mia away. Twyla had said wait, she'd come round, but every new knot in his stomach said otherwise, said worrying was absolutely the way to go.

He was young, he knew that, and "on top of the world", right now, career-wise, financial-wise and looks-wise. He was hot stuff. Scores of hot, desirable women wanted him, but he just wanted Mia. He didn't think her old or bland, he thought she was cool. Genuine and real. She was a model, sure, but she wasn't bitchy in the slightest way, shape or form. She didn't see herself as being above anyone else. She was the real catch, not him. She was going to save him from himself, from the craziness of his burgeoning career. He didn't want to burn out, he wanted to stick it out, and he'd thought, with Mia, that he could just pull it off.

But now Mia wasn't talking to him, and he had no idea where she'd gone off to (or with whom).

He knew Mia liked him (well, she _had_, up until the point he'd royally stuck his foot in it); he knew she had money of his own, so she couldn't be after his. She hadn't been born into it, but that had been a good thing, he'd always thought. Twyla had advised him to be wary and watch out, that she could just be another power-hungry, riches-hungry man-eater, but he knew Mia wasn't like that. She was the real deal. But Twyla had warned him that women had particular sexual appetites, and if you didn't hand over, they would go looking for someone who could. Not even necessarily even to be awful or nasty, but just because biology was biology and even women needed what they needed.

He thought perhaps he'd insulted her, saying he could help "make" her when she had already done that herself, through her hard work and talent, thought perhaps he'd hurt her by reminding her of all the horrible things she'd had to submit herself to on her way to the top, and it made him angry just thinking about someone doing those things to _his_ Mia, but perhaps it was truly the time to throw in the towel, because he'd messed things up completely and Mia was no longer okay with being HIS Mia, but wanted to be someone else's Mia. As angry as he was about that, he also knew he'd been taking a big risk, going out on a gamble. It seemed he'd lost. He wasn't a sore loser. He could find someone else, in time.

At least, he hoped he could. If he couldn't let go of Mia, he would have ruined himself, and he didn't want that. He was young, famous, desired. He was just starting his career. He'd been foolish, thinking he could find love so easily (and that he should be able to keep it, too). But he knew better now: it was a game nobody won. If you stopped playing, falsely thinking you had won, you lost it all. The only way to keep winning was to keep playing, and moving on. Get something nice, while the going was good and you could, and then when the spark was gone, move on, find someone else.

Twyla had tried to warn him, but he'd been too idealistic and macho to believe her. He supposed he owed her an apology for that. If Mia didn't come back, he'd buy Twyla something nice and admit he'd been an idiot. If Mia did come back, he'd thank Twyla with a bouquet of flowers and ask her what he should do next. She'd always been the thinker among them, and he knew he couldn't do it without her. She really did love him more than anyone else in the whole world. She was his twin sister, after all.

* * *

Sydney found Nicholas in a little café, chatting with his wife, Corbin, who was sitting across the table, scribbling something on a bright purple Post-it note. She stopped smiling when she caught sight of him and leaned into the table to tell Nicholas who she'd just caught sight of and Nicky turned around with a frown and scowled at him. Corbin said she'd go order then and left to do so.

Nicholas crossed his arms. "I have no interest in meeting Oliver," he told his father. "I don't care if he is my brother or not. If he really is Noah, I think I'd want to punch him. Can't you at least try to understand that I mean what I say?"

Sydney didn't mention Oliver, he just said, "You think Lyle-"

Nicholas cut him off, looking angry. "Parker and I are related. I felt that. And... I didn't feel that Parker and Lyle were related, not in the same way, I have a feeling he was Blocking me, but there was something. Something compelling. Lyle kept trying to get me to unfeel it, I think. It's why he worked so hard to make me dislike him. But that was only to protect her, not himself. So why? Why, Dad? Why did he even care?"

"He had Noah's upgrades. Her true twin brother's upgrades," Sydney said.

Nicholas shrugged. "Not good enough. He killed her best friend. _She_ killed her best friend. His Convergence partner. She was as much a part of Mimi's corruption and inevitable destruction as he was, as the rest of them. Theoretically, she could have saved Mimi, if she'd wanted to. She was the Pretender, the ISP. She _must_ have known something was wrong. I don't buy that he was protecting her for Mimi's sake, because Mimi had loved her, cared for her as a sister. And if he'd been protecting her so he could later ruin her himself, he wouldn't have been so particular in his mission to have her distrust him. You may think he took on Noah's upgrades to warm her up to him, but he didn't. He wanted her to stay as cold as she possibly could toward him. He was protecting her.

"You didn't see it because you didn't see the whole person, you only saw what he wanted you to see, or imagine, when there wasn't sufficient evidence for anything to actually _be_ seen. He wasn't seeking glory or worship, but an end. It was always about some sort of end, and a beginning. An awakening to truth.

"Everything else was a tactic, a strategy to propel one nearer the end goal, the final victory. He only dreamed about peace in the end for himself, but it wasn't really for him. It was for her, and the others, whoever they are or were.

"He gave me that much, so that I wouldn't interfere. A way of saying, 'We're on the same side, even if you can't see it right now.' And I believed him. He gave me her, a sister; her body, but not her soul. That was hers alone. I didn't even try. It wasn't my place, and I knew it.

"They are family. In his heart, she is his family. They say you don't get to choose your family, but he would have chosen her, every time, hands down. Not because of some inane prophecy that named her as the Legacy, but because he loved her."

Nicholas sighed. "In part, he loved her the way a parent loves their child and would die for them. I don't know why, but I know he did. I suppose... I've heard that some Empaths do believe in reincarnation. He might've thought they'd known each other in a former life, and she'd been his child. That kind of protectiveness isn't that of a lover. A child _can't_ protect itself; it needs a responsible parent to do that. Or, at least, he was leaning toward a suspicion of such a connection.

"He Read me, and he didn't want to fight me. I could appreciate that. Any Empath worth their salt understands that we are all individuals and unique in the eyes of the Universe. As such, we ought to be respected. So, he tried to at least give me the appearance of respect. I do think he might have killed all those poor, unfortunate young women merely to prove a point to himself, that reincarnation is possible, but that wasn't my business. I have no doubt that the maniac would have finished me off, if I got in his way. I'm not that important to Miss Parker, not the way Jarod is, for instance. It was also okay for Kyle to die because he wasn't anyone, not according to Miss Parker, and Thomas, her fiancé: I think he made an error in calculations there, missed that one because he had so much else going on, in relations to himself and his mission. Or maybe he didn't like Thomas, resented that Parker really cared for the guy.

"Greta, my grandmother, told me not to mess with him. She said he was dangerous and she didn't want me getting hurt." He frowned, abruptly, at the look on Sydney's face and the way he'd gone pale all of a sudden. "I didn't realise you knew Mom's mom," he added.

"Greta wasn't Michelle's mother," Sydney replied, barely above a whisper. "She was my mother."

Nicholas shivered, feeling suddenly cold. "I'm sorry, Sydney," he said quickly. "I didn't realise. Mom's never told me about her family, and I never asked. I just assumed... I'm really sorry, Sydney."

Sydney glared at him. "You can hear her Voice?"

Nicholas nodded. "Out of all my Voice Guides, I trust her the most." He frowned, then, hoping the action wouldn't upset Sydney further. When Sydney was upset like he was now, Nicholas could feel it very clearly. He had a threatening vibe about him that Nicholas just knew he'd be wise to remain wary of. Sydney may not have been a Reaper like him, but he was very capable of harm, just by the thinking, even if he didn't know it yet himself. Greta had warned him not to do anything that might encourage his father's darker aspect, and he'd had to agree. Sydney probably wouldn't like that side of himself anyway, and he knew he definitely wouldn't.

With a steadying breath, he said, "She told me the Tower believe Lyle to be the Bug. The body was once Noah's, but when Noah died in 1964, the Bug took possession of it and has been living, unsuspected, in plain sight ever since, plotting its way to some inexplicable, lethal ends."

"He was the...?" Sydney didn't finish the rest of his sentence, his hands shaking, but Nicholas knew what he meant.

"He _is_ the Bug," Nicholas corrected. "He's not dead. They're experimenting on him. They want to find a way to communicate with his species, to find out where he comes from and go there for themselves. Have a look around. But they don't want them coming here. They want the aliens to know that Earth is ours and ours alone."

"How do you know...?"

Nicholas nodded, guessing after Sydney's question. "We learnt about the Bug. I did, at school. With Tam. Just to be on the safe side, I guess. You're really... upset about this Bug thing, aren't you?"

"To speak of it, or think of it, is to give it power, to give is substance."

Nicholas smiled. "I didn't know you were superstitious, Dad."

Sydney didn't smile back. Instead, he was thinking about all of the Tams, and the irrevocable damage that had already been done by them, by the desire to equip their children against the dangers of the world, to give them a fighting chance by allowing them knowledge when, in reality, they had done so much, much worse. They had doomed them!

Nicholas frowned, disconcerted and roughly cluing onto his thoughts. "Sydney, the Bug isn't a demon. It's a living being. Before it became a parasite, I imagine it would have had a body of its own. It can be killed. But why kill something that doesn't mean you any harm?"

"You detest Lyle!" Sydney hissed.

"True," Nicholas agreed. "I can't stand the creep. But he's just one person. There's nothing saying they're all like him."

"There's nothing saying they aren't!"

Nicholas nodded. "Okay, let me get this straight – you're afraid Lyle's going to find some insane way to do away with all of our souls and then he'll signal his armada and they'll just pop over and take over our bodies, effectively invading the Earth without even lifting a finger?"

"Don't say that!"

Nicholas laughed. "Come on, Dad, that's preposterous! Even Greta doesn't believe that. She says he's not that good."

Sydney hiccupped.

"Okay," Nicky replied, with a frown. "What does that mean?"

"You're scaring me!"

"Don't worry, Dad," Nicky told him. "I'll kick his butt if he even tries it. He won't know what hit him. Earthlings don't go down easily, Dad. Never have, never will. I guess he'll just have to learn that the hard way, if he tries anything stupid. There is no earthly way for him to extinguish, or even exorcise, all of our souls at once."

"You assume that he's planning on taking us all together," Sydney said, and it was Nicholas's turn to frown.

"Good point, good point. Now you've got me worried. Heck, I'll have to give this one some serious-" He fell short and smiled at Corbin, returning with their drinks. "Hey, honey."

"Is your dad alright?" she asked. "He looks unwell."

"He's worried about his friend, Parker, that's all."

"I'm fine," Sydney told her, doing his best to school his expression back to normalcy.

Before she could ask, Nicholas laughed and said, "No! No, of course we're not still angry at each other. We talked it out, and I think we're okay now. We're okay now, aren't we, Dad?"

Sydney nodded. "We're okay," he said.

Corbin smiled, and passed him a paper cup from the tray. She'd gotten him a coffee too.

* * *

"We can't trust her," Charles told Margaret. "I'm sorry, but I think she's compromised. I don't think that's our daughter anymore."

Margaret said nothing.

* * *

Emily recalled the story her best friend, Melody, had once told her, about the boy who'd said he was an alien from another planet, and that he'd been fleeing from war, only looking for a way to survive. Mel had always assumed he'd said it jokingly, in effort to win her friendship, but as odd and painful as it was to think about, perhaps Lyle actually hadn't been lying, or making up some crazy, funny story. If he honestly was this Bug – this alien entity – Jarod and her dad suspected him of being, then perhaps he had come simply looking for refuge. She just couldn't believe that what her father was saying was true, no matter if he'd gotten it from some ancient prophecy that had foreseen the formation of the company known as the Centre, the birth of his first son, Jarod, and his abduction.

She didn't care if Lyle was, or had been, an alien; that her Convergence partner wasn't even properly human. She only cared that her family might one day turn against her and her children, merely because of this fact, might want to harm them, out of fear and misunderstanding. She wished there was some way she could tell her dad none of that mattered, but she knew she'd only be hitting her head against a brick wall. Her father's mind was made up.

She'd told Jarod her father suspected him, not to hurt him, but to protect him. She'd known it would hurt, but she hadn't wanted to pit Jarod against his dad, either. When Charles hadn't spoken up and said she'd been wrong, nothing but a liar, when he'd let Jarod believe his father had suspected him – because he hadn't been able to rule him out, even if he'd wanted to – she'd known Charles couldn't be talked round, and she'd wanted to cry like nothing else, but she'd swallowed her tears and realised that she would have to watch her father, would have to submit to loving another who she couldn't wholly trust, because she could never stop loving her dad, but she couldn't allow herself to trust him, to sign her children's lives over to his whim. She was a parent and her love, first and foremost, went to her children, to those who had never so much as hurt her but had only ever trusted her and loved her in return.

This was her life now. She accepted the fact, as she had previously done. She would still see happiness and goodness in the world, but so too did she see the sadness and darkness, the injustices and traps. The darkness would not have her.

She sung "True Love Never Runs Smooth" with tears in her eyes and a smile in her voice and Aretha was gently lulled into slumber. Hubertus, sitting beside her on the bench as they waited for the bus to pull up, rested his head against her side and stifled a yawn with his tiny hand. He closed his eyes and let his mother's beautiful voice wash over him.

* * *

Standing before the wire fence, wind and sand blowing all about her, Emily held her children near and met the Reaper's unflinching gaze without fear.

Before the Reaper could tell her she shouldn't have been hanging about, she said, "My name is Mimi Cooper. Take me to your leader."

Rooney Tam himself was sent to meet with the woman, assess the validity of her claims and whatever it was she had to offer, and perhaps then, upon consultation, escort her to her meeting with his mother, the Queen. Mimi Cooper was, as they all knew, dead. She'd been murdered by the Centre scum (and apparently traitor), Lyle Sanford, AKA Parker.

His wife, the Daughter of Nash, Blake Nash-Tam, accompanied him. She had, on one occasion, met with the girl, Mimi, with the intent of Healing her, but the girl had no need of Healing. She had already been Healed by another, the one known as the Mysterious Healer, the silent but pervasive ponder of all of Tam's Healers: Was this mysterious Healer their own Nash? Their former "shining star"?

Reaching the room into which the woman had been directed, Rooney and Blake took note of the small children with her. The little boy was wearing a shirt patterned with tractors. Rooney had observed these mechanical agricultural implements many times before, particularly in other states. Despite the peculiarity of his clothing, the child was agreeable to the eyes, as children often were, and quite young still. He decided this child, and his younger sister, would not be a danger, and did not order the Empaths to Read them.

The woman rose to her feet, all business. "I want to speak with your mother."

Rooney held up a hand to silence her. "We'll need to verify your identity before we can consider anything you might have to say," he told her. "The Daughter of Nash will assess you." He glanced across to his wife.

Emily merely stood straighter, tilting her head back slightly so that Blake might place her hand upon her forehead and do her thing.

"Before we proceed," Rooney interrupted, "there are a couple of questions I must ask you: To the best of your knowledge, have you ever been administered the AH serum?"

Emily met his eyes. "No."

"Are you a Possessor, and if so, what is your expression?"

"Yes. I'm a Mediator."

"What is your age?"

"Forty-three."

"In regards to your general health, do you consider yourself to be healthy?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been trained in the use of your expression?"

"Yes, in my youth."

"Was this with Elisabeth Tam?"

"Yes. At the Sin Eleeswa school, in Canada."

"And what is your name?"

"Mimi Cooper."

"Do you have any aliases?"

"Roslin Morgan and Lin Sanford."

"Have you met your Chosen?"

"Yes. His name is Lyle Parker."

"Are you a couple?"

"We were. I am told he is deceased."

"And these," he gestured to the children, "are your children?"

"They are."

"With your Chosen?"

"That's right."

"By what name do you go today?"

"Emily Russell."

"How do you feel at this moment?"

"I am fine."

A frown crossed Rooney's face and he sighed. "Do not try to Block the Daughter of Nash." He nodded and Blake stepped closer and placed her hand on the younger woman's head, her brown eyes darkening to coffee black.

When she stepped back, she turned to Rooney and nodded. "I believe this woman to be Mimi Cooper. She is a Possessor, four decades passed, and in good health, though asthmatic." Returning her gaze to Emily, she said, "I remember the occasion of our meeting, Miss Russell. You were a child on her way to becoming a young woman. You had a space between your two front teeth."

"An unnecessary identifying feature," Emily merely replied. "May I see Ms. Tam?"

"How did you survive to escape the clutches of the Centre?" Rooney asked, apparently genuinely interested.

"I didn't."

He frowned.

"I died, as I'm told Elisabeth Tam already knew. The Mysterious Healer Healed me. I'd ask why, but we've never met."

Rooney nodded. "A frustratingly common occurrence, I've noticed. Why did you go back to Mr. Sanford, if you'd successfully escaped him?"

She smiled. "Oh, he came to me."

"I was led to believe that he also believed as we did, that you had passed into the Twilight Realms."

"It was a nice surprise for him."

Rooney frowned, sceptical of her smile. "By which you mean, it wasn't such a nice surprise?"

"I honestly didn't ask," Emily said.

"And now, are you also affiliated with the Centre, as Mr. Sanford was?"

"No. My children and I are affiliate with Gift of the Sun."

"Ooo, nice!"

Emily didn't smile at his attempt to soften her up with humour, but said, "I'd like to see your mother now, if possible. It is important."

"Is it?" Rooney asked, telling the nearby Empaths, in Tam, to Read her.

"Yes, rather important. It's also confidential, Mr. Tam. I will not be discussing this matter with anyone but your mother. I've already told you more than I strictly need have. I'd appreciate if you arranged for our meeting now."

"Escort Miss Cooper and her offspring from the property," Rooney instructed the two Reapers standing by the door.

"You don't want to do that," Emily told him. "I came to you first, before any others, because I believed your company to be essentially honourable. If you turn us out now, I assure you that you will regret it. I come on a mission of hope, as my late husband's emissary. I am a friend, not an enemy. You have no reason to distrust my motives. I mean your company and your people no harm."

Rooney scowled darkly. "You come as that monster's emissary!" he spat, in a furious snarl.

Emily stood her ground, unmoved. "That is correct, Mr. Tam."

"Contrary to popular speculation, we were not fooled by that monster!"

"My concern is for the future, Mr. Tam, not for the past."

Blake spoke quietly to Rooney in Tam and he scowled, no doubt saying something nasty about Lyle, and turned back to Emily.

"As you wish, Miss Russell," he growled. "I shall inform Our Mother of your wishes."

Emily smoothed a hand over her son's hair affectionately, waiting for Rooney to get back to her.

Rooney removed his communication glasses roughly and glared at her. "Mother says she will see you now. Your offspring shall remain here, with our people."

"No. My children remain with me."

Rooney glared at her a moment longer, consulted his communication glasses, and growled, "You will accompany me."

* * *

The Queen, a young woman in her twenties, many cycles past, frowned, taking the small glass vial offered to her by Emily. "You know that it works?" she asked, and Emily shook her head.

"My Chosen left it to me. I guessed what it must be, though I can't be sure. I only know that my Chosen was passionate about giving Possessors back their rights and ending our exploitation."

The Queen held the vial up to the light, peering into the depths of the serum. "We will have our people investigate your Chosen's serum, Miss Cooper."

Emily nodded. "Thank you."

"We hear that you have recently lost your Chosen to the Twilight Realms."

"Five months ago."

"A mere blinking of the eye, child. How are you coping?"

"I'm getting by."

"The children?"

Emily nodded silently. Getting by, too.

The Queen nodded in return. "We will be in contact," she told Emily, addressing the Reapers quickly in Tam.

Emily didn't have to be asked. She walked to the door with them, taking her children with her.

* * *

Eating lunch in the Tam's version of a dining hall, Emily was startled to see Hubertus smile suddenly and, eyes wide, turn to glance behind him excitedly.

The man approaching was also smiling. For a split second, Emily wondered who he might be, and then she recalled where she'd seen him before, on a couple of DSAs. He was Jarod's childhood friend, Angelo, who had escaped the Centre a few years earlier. A former child of Tam, kidnapped from his home corporation by Centre Field operatives.

Angelo's smile disappeared when he noticed Emily; Hubertus patted his mother's arm excitedly. "Friend. Friend."

"Hello," Emily said to Angelo. "My name is Emily."

"I am Angelo."

Emily smiled suddenly, tears in her eyes. "Jarod was so very worried for you. I'm so happy to see you're well."

"I _am_ well," he agreed. "But Timmy has gone away, I am Angelo now."

"I understand."

"Timmy could not return to the Centre, but they wanted him to work again, to be 'well'. Angelo became well, instead, and I am Angelo now."

Emily nodded.

Angelo smiled again, glancing at the children. "Hello, Hubertus and Aretha."

"Hello," Hubertus replied happily.

They gazed at one another for a long while, saying nothing, and Emily picked up her son's hand, wondering if she should be worried. Hubertus was not old enough for his Empathy to have come into effect, nor his Mediator aspect. She hoped Angelo wasn't trying to Read her child, or, worse, Share with him.

Suddenly, Angelo looked at Emily and asked, "Why have you come here, Emily?"

"It's a secret," she said.

"Secret Chosen business."

She frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"Lyle was your Chosen, Miss Emily."

"How do you know that?"

"We were friends."

"Oh, right," she replied sceptically.

"I was not happy when I heard that the Tower had hands on him," Angelo told her. "I didn't want them to have my brother. The Tower are monsters. They like to play games with people, for fun and profit. You have my condolences, Miss Emily and children."

"Did Lyle tell you about me?"

"I understood that there was someone, and your children remind me of my friend."

"He Shared with you!" she snapped accusingly.

Angelo sighed. "Sheesh, lady! Yes, okay. Something. A little something. But only to help me, when my mind was too full of horrible things and I was little more than the sum of their horribleness. He gave me something good, something nice. I know it as Happy Sunshine, but others would call it the Warmth or the Glow, proof of the Convergence bond. When you feel content as you are. It was very soothing, Miss Emily. Even when Angelo was not Angelo and Timmy was gone, I was full of soothing things instead of horrible things."

Emily looked away from him, trying not to be hurt. She'd thought Lyle might Share some stuff with Parker, even some of their stuff, but she'd never guessed he'd Share it with anyone else, let alone this man she'd believed an old friend of her brother's, not Lyle's. She could hardly be angry if it had been to help someone, but she couldn't help feeling betrayed. She didn't even know who this man was in relations to Lyle. Who was he? A friend, a "brother"! She knew that Lyle often considered people he'd never met his brothers and sisters, but to do something like that, to share something like that, that personal, wasn't only dangerous, but it was also disrespectful. Mel was her friend, her once best friend. Mel was okay, but this guy?!

She sniffed, forcibly holding back tears. Hubertus hugged her, but she didn't feel better. She wanted to yell at Lyle, to make him admit that he'd been an idiot and tell him that, just maybe, she'd consider forgiving him. She wanted her stupid dummy, Lyle.

She thought she'd be happy. Sad, but quietly happy, proud. She thought she could handle this, bringing the serum Lyle had left for her to the Tams, where it could be put to good use saving people from the scourge of the upgrades. She had spent so long helping people, telling them about Gift of the Sun, reminding herself that she'd wanted to help people too, that they'd shared many of the same goals. Telling herself she couldn't stop missing him, but she could at least be of some use to the rest of the world, rather than a blubbering mass of misery, but now all she wanted to do was cry. She didn't know why he'd had to let them take him, why he'd had to give up. She would have died for him, if only he'd asked, and as stupid as she knew it would have been, she surely wouldn't have been able to miss him like this if she was dead. She didn't want to think that it had been because of Mel, because of Miss Parker, but she knew Parker had been a big motivator for him. If he'd had to choose between them, she was afraid he'd have chosen Mel, afraid she would hate Mel for it.

Turning back to Angelo, she sniffed again and said, "It was nice meeting you, but I would like you to leave us now. We can't have lunch together. We'll be leaving soon, and we won't be coming back."

"As you desire, Miss Emily. I wish you and the children well on your travels. Farewell."

She watched Angelo leave, and finally, silently, allowed herself to cry.

* * *

Rooney clapped a hand to his arm, but Angelo gave him a dirty look. Rooney's smile evaporated. "What's the matter, old friend?"

"I am angry. Do not touch me."

Rooney laughed. "I can take care of myself, Angelo!" He kept wanting to call the man Timmy, until he remembered that this wasn't Timmy anymore: this was a successive personality, a shadow, a mere weak imitation, of the person he'd once known.

"You only think that," Angelo snapped. "But you are mistaken."

Rooney nodded. "You talked with Miss Russell."

Angelo growled at him warningly.

"She's grown into a fine woman. Good looking. Enough to confound a man."

"Put the woman from your mind, Rooney!"

Rooney frowned seriously. "You like her, don't you?"

Angelo growled and the air around them grew colder.

Rooney put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, I've put her from my mind. I've put her from my mind, Timmy." He winced. "It's okay, Angelo. If you're really this touchy about it, I won't bring her up again."

Angelo pushed past him and stormed away.

The cold in the air took a little longer to dissipate, reminding Rooney that Angelo wasn't only his old friend, he was also the Son of Nash, his mother's failed experiment. The rest of the company could never know of the Son of Nash for he was not a Healer, as his father had been, but a Reaper, the same as his mother. But his Reaper aspects had also been informed by his father's Reaper side, the side of him that Tam denied was able to exist. The Paradox stated that because both Healers and Reapers were able to Heal – Healers could Heal others and also themselves, whilst Reapers were only able to Heal themselves – an individual could not be both a Healer and a Reaper, yet both Rooney and his mother, the Queen, knew this to be untrue. It was the reason Timmy had been sent to a less well known auxiliary, why, as an official double Possessor, he hadn't been promoted but rather he'd been demoted to watch after the other children there, the _proper_ Empaths.

Even Timmy hadn't known how special he was, and he still didn't. He didn't know that Blake was his half-sister. Rooney wished he could have told his old friend, but his mother wouldn't stand for it, and he'd never brought it up, knowing that to do so would be to disappoint her. He'd already disappointed her enough, both he and his younger sister, Pete. They were not her "first" children, the children of her Chosen, who had died, along with their children, as a consequence of the Centre plague, the Sickness. He'd disappointed her doubly, by wanting to marry his own Chosen, Blake, by rejecting the Breeding Program's recommendations for him and choosing Blake as his breeding partner each time.

His mother could be a cold, hard woman, and though he'd often feared her attitude had harmfully rubbed off on him, Blake had saved him when she'd come along, had saved him from himself. He might have been angry at Nash for abandoning them, as his mother was, but he couldn't do it, he couldn't be angry that Blake had been born, that she'd come into the world and then into his life, to save him from himself, to show him who he really was, as a person and not his mother's shadow.

He knew, for instance, that his mother wasn't pleased that they had to let the Cooper woman go, was secretly plotting to have one of the children fall ill and require their assistance, hoping, the whole time, that Emily wouldn't have the money to pay for their services and would therefore have to turn her child over their care in order for it to survive. He knew that his mother meant to play dirty, convinced that this woman was no longer one of their own but a Centre puppet, and therefore undeserving of their respect and mercy, but he was not going to allow his mother to have her way. He was going to forbid her from doing any such thing: The Mysterious Healer liked this woman, for whatever reason, and they did not want to anger the Mysterious Healer.

He would tell his mother, also, that Angelo had something of a soft spot for the woman. He was only with them on a voluntary basis – he was also of Gift of the Sun – but he had come to them in hopes of regaining some of his former Empathic ability with which to temper his Reaper aspect. His Perception was unusually strong, much stronger than his low-level Empathy, which had barely scaped a Class One in his last testing, but it could not help him with his problem, it could not stabilise him the way his Empathy could, if it had been working correctly.

Angelo wasn't yet ready to try regaining Timmy as a regressive personality, or to integrate both Timmy and Angelo, if such a thing was possible in cases of successive personalities. He was still hoping he could work things out another way, but Rooney wasn't seeing it. Things were ramping up, but not in a good way.

He really didn't like that his friend had so much negative baggage with these Centre monsters, but it couldn't be helped. In payment for their services, Angelo had offered himself up as a "subject" in their experiments with "damaged" Empaths, but he wasn't saying anything about the Centre, or their own work with Empaths. He wasn't selling them out, or else he just didn't want to think about them at all.

He wondered if Angelo had met his Chosen, or if he was still waiting.

* * *

Angelo sat in his room, fuming. Rooney could sometimes be a big idiot. For instance, he seemed to think Angelo ignorant of his relation to the one known as Nash, but he wasn't ignorant, he was merely content to have Rooney and his lot think him so. He knew who his father was, had known it from the moment of their meeting, but it hadn't seemed such a big deal. Back then, he hadn't known his father was the Tam's great and wonderful Nash, but now that he knew, he almost wished he hadn't. He couldn't hate Raines as much now, not now that he knew he'd once been a Pet too, not now that he knew exactly why Raines hadn't been able to save Annie, why he hadn't been able to feel her, or what had become of her. It was the same reason he hadn't been able to help, because the enemy had her and weren't letting go, and they'd locked her away in the deepest, darkest recesses of the Hive. That was enough to block anyone's best efforts, let alone the "therapy" they'd administered Annie in order to break her, to coerce her into giving up her father and possible siblings and turning her into one of their perfect, subservient Pets. And they had broken her!

He sometimes wondered, in the middle of the night, when all was quiet and dark, if Bobby had known. If he'd known what had become of Annie and had remained silent as to prevent Raines from doing anything crazy, like giving himself up in exchange for his daughter's release. He couldn't have gone to the Triumvirate to complain about the abuse of Affiliation rights, because Annie hadn't been declared as a Possessor and false declarations were an instant null and void when it came to protective powers and contracts with any company possessing Affiliation rights, and it was certain that Tam would admit to having taken Annie if they could also add that they hadn't known she was protected and, actually, she was an undeclared Possessor and they could prove it. The Centre would then snap Raines up, or he'd try to run, and Tam might catch up to him and haul him back with them, and that would be that. With Nash back, Tam would resume their hunting spree en masse, and no free-world Possessor would be safe. It had been Nash who'd been able to feel other Possessors, and had located them for Tam, before he'd escaped, every Tam knew this. After the great losses they'd suffered at the hands of the scum known as the Centre, their numbers had been sad and very, very low, but then, as if by miracle, Nash had come along.

Bobby might've been a funny boy, a frankly crazy boy, but Angelo knew that he would have been against Possessor exploitation just as much as Lyle had been, if not all the more so. The most he could have done for Annie was to feel her pain along with her, to feel what she felt so that, though she didn't know it, she wasn't alone, she wasn't forgotten, wasn't simply a sad memory from the past.

Sometimes, he was even certain that Bobby had known, and he, like Emily, felt a sudden burst of anger at Lyle, but it never lasted long. Even after Jarod had dug it all up again and put himself directly in the line of fire with Tam, Lyle hadn't just let them have him, he'd still tried to protect him, had done his best to protect William and Sam by not allowing the Tams to discover the identity of Annie's true family. Jarod didn't know it, but that was the best part. If he'd known, he would have felt compelled to do something crazy, to attempt to rescue Annie, probably, and that was simply out of the question. As much as Lyle had advocated that the Tams were people too, and not merely savages and monsters, he'd also been aware that they could be as morally corrupt as the Centre, and they had a huge chip on their shoulder as a consequence of aftermath of the Sickness. He couldn't stay angry at Lyle because, as he had told Emily, they were brothers, family, family by choice and not by design, and because, despite everything, he'd loved his brother.

Scowling, he cursed himself for setting himself up for the sea of fire-hot anger that washed over him when he thought of the Sickness. The reason Lyle had been so set against the Blue Cove's esteemed former chairman, Allan Courtland, was because of his work with the Tower. Finding a group of children they'd acquired in hopes of learning more of Mediators useless – it could have been that Mediators developed later than other expressions – the Tower had increasingly been putting the office Courtland had been working for under pressure to do _something_ with them. The project had been ordained by the Top, but she had little interest in a project that refused to yield results, and employees who refused to see to it that they did, and the Tower's extracurricular projects were coming under heavy examination. Fearing for his career, Courtland had given up working with the kids and had ordered them disposed of. The children, too young to show expression, had been subjected to the Sickness, just to see what would happen. When that didn't work, Courtland found a Healer the Tower wasn't particularly pleased with, and had him activate the Sickness in the children and himself. All had died in terribly, slow, inevitable agony. With that little project, despite the cost of supplying the strain of the Sickness, the Top had been pleased. The Tower had been developing different strains of the Sickness and had needed test subjects. Courtland's initiative had not only come at a welcome time, it had also been efficient, and it had yielded much quality data which to analyse. Courtland had earner himself a promotion for his outstanding work.

Frankly, since learning this tale (on the down-low from Rooney, who knew all sorts about Centre evils), Angelo didn't know how Lyle had refrained from "accidentally" murdering Courtland. There were no records by which to prove the tale, and Courtland had been "re-educated" in short order, so the Triumvirate had nothing to crack down on, and even if there had been, the Tower would have claimed ignorance, would have said they had no idea those kids were carrying the Sickness (where the hell had that come from, anyhow?, maybe it was Naomi?, and wasn't it a violation to have the stuff in your possession?), would have blamed the Healer somehow, might even have said he was Naomi and had killed those kids on purpose, to save them from a lifetime of exploitation. Or, heck, maybe the Tams had infected them on purpose to kill Centre "scum"? The Triumvirate would have succeeded in nothing more than making themselves look a bunch of fools and diverting their resources from where they could be used to more effect.

But Lyle hadn't sat back and done nothing. He had tracked down the recruiter who'd sold the kids to the Tower. He'd figured out who each of the kids were and went about finding some incriminating evidence that might land the recruiter in jail, then he'd called the FBI. Apparently, he knew a guy called Kelly, who was actually looking to pin him for a bunch of murders, but the guy would be just as interested to hear the story on these poor, missing kids. The recruiter was good, but not that good, and he'd been dumb enough to take kids who were already in the system. Only two of them had been Possessors, the remaining eight had been the kids he'd chosen when he'd tired of the hunt and decided that, actually, Mediators didn't really exist. Everybody said they were nothing more than a Tam fabrication anyway, a supposed cautionary tale to "crazies" like the Centre who did crazy things like release the Sickness on the general public and lay waste to non-Possessors by the dozen (though it wasn't strictly permitted, and nobody really had any proof, anyway). And oh, shit, because literally _anyone_ could turn out to be a potential asset! Freakin' _anyone_! Taxi drivers, porn stars, convenience store clerks, that whiny kid on the bus you just wanted to throttle, foreigners... the list went on.

The recruiter wasn't having much fun in prison, though, interestingly, he was yet to be murdered/spared-a-life-of-abject-terror-and-misery by the Centre. Angelo wasn't sure what was taking them, but dying would probably be too good for the guy. He needed the time to suffer, to truly appreciate the taste of his former "work". The Centre would end him someday, but hopefully not tomorrow.

It was, actually, the Centre's own stupidity that had set Lyle onto them. He often helped to find missing kids for them. If the client had enough dough, then hell yes!, they could have a real Empath.

One of the kids whose disappearance he'd looked into in the past had been taken by one such recruiter, a woman aptly, or ill-appropriately, named Farmer. The child had already been sold to the Centre, as a useful non-Possessor, due to her rare blood type, when the parents had come to the Centre, willing to do anything, surrender anything, for their baby girl. When the company learned that the child was worth more to them alive, they'd actually been tossing up having her brainwashed and sent home. They could surely find another kid whose parents wouldn't kick up such a fuss if they kidnapped her and harvested her organs. And then they'd decided they really wanted this kid. She was a pretty little thing – some much like an angel – and the valued company employee who needed her liver really liked the idea of receiving an organ from such a cute, innocent kid.

The recruiter was dispatched by trusty assassin, Matilda, and the kid wound up as an organ donor. The parents found their little girl, but she'd been so thoroughly burned that little more than her bones were left. They gave a large donation to the Centre to help them with their work, in hopes that they would be able help other families with missing children in future. A fantastic donation.

That was the time, Lyle, thinking himself someone he actually wasn't (he was crazy, shit happened) and not being able to help the kid, who'd been taken by the Tower to the secret Tower branch, had decided he might try his hand at convincing the recruiter into turning herself over to the Triumvirate (he was usually so convincing, and his pretty boy looks tended to make women lose all sense of sanity), but Matilda, luckily, wasn't one of those sorts of women. She stylishly decided she'd take Farmer and the traitor, Lyle, out with a clean shot through the heart. Farmer, unluckily, was perfectly normal, unlike Lyle, whose heart was crazy, like him, and didn't want to do as it was told and so had decided it would much rather take up residence on the wrong side of the tracks, because it was just cooler on the wrong side and girls especially thought so. In addition to this bout of craziness, Lyle decided that he wasn't going to die if someone he didn't even know (who wasn't Jarod, or even his father) was going to shoot him, because that wasn't cool, and he had a highly developed sense of cool, being that he was a child of the Sixties. Not to mention the insane level of uncool Matilda and her modern, unstylish gun added to the whole equation, which equalled unbearable, off-the-charts, destructive uncool!

Lyle, of course, wasn't quite stupid enough to go with the uncool theory. Instead, he claimed that Farmer had been a Naomi double agent, and he'd merely been protecting her to get the inside scoop on the group. Until that dummy assassin-ette had taken her out and ruined it all, of course. The Tower had been too busy spitting chips for their oversight that they'd swallowed the story with a minimum of prodding. And, boy, for a "good guy", Farmer had been hardcore. They were kinda pissed they hadn't recruited her themselves. She might have been awesome. Compared to Farmer, the long list of potential Naomi spies weren't anywhere near as hardcore. In fact, they were laughable. Especially Broots, who so obviously wasn't secretly working with Jarod (or Naomi) it was actually sort of pathetic. The Alabama branch had always found Broots particularly suspect, they'd just never been able to prove it (it made no sense why he'd turned them down in favour of the Blue Cove branch), and they'd always secretly hoped he was Naomi so they could have him taken away (he was always stealing their Tech Space awards; he'd won Best Tech four years running one year, and they hadn't forgotten that).

Farmer had no family, no friends or known associates. She was the perfect Naomi operative. In more ways than one, some people had said. Perfect, and perfectly dead.

Lyle was an Empath anyway. Couldn't he just tell them everything there was to tell about the woman?

Apparently, much to the Centre's chagrin, he couldn't. Following a course of new meds they'd wanted to trial, they decided to leave him alone to recover. It was obviously very distressing to him, very nearly getting smoked by a girl, and especially one who was prettier than him.

The truth was, Farmer had had one associate. Every recruiter knew at least one other person, a coordinator, who would tell them who was looking for people and what sort of people they were looking for. Lyle suspected a leak from within the Triumvirate – Farmer's kids hadn't just been sold to the Centre, but also to Elisabeth Tam and various others, many even marketed as former acquisitions – but he had no proof, and proof, as they said, was everything.

Every year, the Triumvirate hosted a fair where groups could showcase their subjects they wished to sell, but these subjects were registered and Affiliated. They were not people from off the street. Each of the companies under the Triumvirate's protection would advise the Triumvirate of their acquisitions, as per Triumvirate law. Lyle had not been able to trace any of Farmer's supposed acquisitions to their home groups, but rather, he had discovered they were not of any group, but free-world. Someone inside the Triumvirate was dirty, and was doctoring the books for recruiters.

Unfortunately, Farmer hadn't been able to give him the proof he needed, or any names. Matilda had seen to that. The recruiter who'd sold those ten children to the Tower hadn't been any more helpful. The project had been put on hold in favour of others and that was the extent of Rooney's knowledge. Lyle had written his mother to warn her of this unscrupulous, malicious person, along with a variety of other groups, though he stressed the fact that his suspicions, as of then, were not backed up by proof.

Rooney's mother had ostensibly laughed it off as nothing but Centre shenanigans, but Rooney knew the truth. She hadn't been amused. If this person who was doctoring the books was found to be doing so, they would be liable to lose their "illegitimate" subjects, even if the Triumvirate took care of the cost of reparations. And if this particular event never eventuated, this person might still come knocking, demanding kickbacks in exchange for his or her silence.

She was very not pleased, and so she'd asked Rooney to launch an investigation into their most recent acquisitions. Crimes against the free-world were heavily frowned upon by the Triumvirate, and ignorance was not an adequate excuse, if even one person got lax. More particularly, she didn't like the idea that this person might be able to "farm" subjects, seizing them from one group and funnelling them into a group of their choice.

She did not like the Parker boy, it was true – he was scum to her – but she was glad he'd seen fit to inform her, even if he'd only done so for a laugh. Upon investigation, her specially-designated team were able to find at least four instances of a free-world Possessor being passed off as a legitimate acquisition. She sold them off discretely at the next fair, along with many other legitimate acquisitions, so as not to draw suspicion, and was glad when her investigative team returned with no more reports of illegally-acquired free-worlders.

When she had allowed Rooney to tell Angelo of this breech of trust, she had been hoping he might volunteer to help weed out the "fakes" at future fairs, but then she'd learned of his "problem". Before he could assist his old company, he needed to be fixed. Whatever it took, she'd told her people. This one was special. He'd come home to them. He was to be valued.

Progress was slow. She was growing impatient.

This serum, however, was just what she'd needed to take her mind off her troubles.

* * *

About Five Months Ago:

Janet Long stifled a yawn with her hand and continued typing away on her computer. She was part of the Triumvirate's internal affairs department. She'd been tasked with tracking down the leak, ever since she'd been informed of it by her higher-ups, and though it had taken some time, she'd finally done it. Once she'd finished up her report, she was free for the rest of the week. Her boss had kindly given her the time off. She was excited at the thought of spending time with her two girls on a camping trip she'd planned, out of the blue, last night, but she really had to concentrate right now so she got this done. Humming her favourite Gene Pitney song, "Backstage", she continued typing.

She never suspected that her boss had merely directed her onto the path of a scapegoat, and off of his. When, a week later, she turned up dead, along with her two girls, her car sadly losing control on a bridge and careening into the river below, it was labelled a tragic accident. She was given a moving service, and everybody moved on, just thankful that she'd been able to nail the culprit before she'd tragically been taken "from this earth too soon".


	2. Chapter 2

As a young boy, Angelo had imagined, had dreamed of, rejoining his home company, Elisabeth Tam. But when Timmy "disappeared" and he became Angelo, the dream did not follow him. The small part of Angelo that held onto awareness had been wary of all such "companies", had wished nothing to do with any of them. He had stayed with the Centre because he hadn't seen any other future for himself, had not wanted to further their cause, but had known he was useless in the "free" world. He knew people inside the Centre, family, "friends". And, as a failed experiment, he was largely left alone.

Until he'd been given into the "care" of Persephone Merchant, an expert in Empathy, he'd been more or less "okay" with staying put. He'd even been able to help out some. But when he was given to Persephone the Tower saw her as a new beginning for him, a healing start. They wanted her to "recover" him, or to at least assess the viability of such an endeavour, had actually been interested to hear of her progress.

That was, he knew, the beginning of the end. He could no longer hide under the auspices of being "ruined". When he was making good progress, was roughly "better", the Tower decided it was high time for Blue Cove to offer up one of their Pets into the Tower's care, a gesture of their allegiance, their subservience to the "cause", of "good will", and Persephone, with the choice of letting them have the then ten-year-old Reagan or him, had decided, as she should have, that she couldn't give them the child. She hadn't argued with them, the choice really hadn't been hers, but she might have argued, though she chose not to. All had been going fine, until she'd deviated from the plan and had given him her clearance card, insisting that he "run".

He never would have done so, himself, but he'd done so for her. He knew there would be consequences, bad consequences, but he'd had to do this, for her. He had been afraid that to do otherwise would ruin her, that she would never be able to forgive herself, that she might do something crazy, and as much as he feared these bad consequences, as much as he feared others coming to harm because he had been unavailable, he knew that he shouldn't have had to take the Tower's crap, shouldn't have had to go with them, that Persephone's choice was the "right" thing to do, and that, more than anything else, he should stand by her for precisely that reason. Because she was right, and that was to be supported, not to be boycotted. The fact that she loved him, and he may have loved her in return, wasn't entirely of consequence. It was the "truth" that mattered, as Catherine Parker had taught them. The truth was more important than life or death, than love or hate, and the truth was, a life without meaning, without compass or morality, was only a half-life, was the mere shadow of life, and a thing that was wrong to be encouraged.

So he had run, knowing that it was right, that it was what Persephone wanted, that she would be willing to risk herself for him, for the truth.

It had hurt, but that was right. It was meant to hurt, he was meant to miss the people he'd left behind. There was meant to be _something_, because that was living. He was no longer existing, he was now "living".

He had never known the free world. Had glimpsed it, on few occasions, had stood in it, but never had he been part to it. He'd always belonged elsewhere, to others. To be a child of the "free" world, as the Centre liked to call it, was painful, and not nearly as liberating as one might have imagined. Every ill thing he'd ever encountered within the walls of the Centre or Elisabeth Tam also existed here, in this "free" world. But the free world was said to be free: if you wished to starve to death, nobody could stop you; if you happened to be poor and without adequate funds to feed yourself and your family, who else but you could do a thing about it?

But the free world had a sky which to gaze upon day or night, and the wind roamed free upon the earth, the moon and stars adorned the skies and the sun shone. The free world was a magical place that could give meaning to the heartache you felt, a place where you could find both heaven and hell and anywhere in between.

It was, Angelo thought, Bobby's world. Whenever he thought of it, he thought most strongly of Bobby. Bobby, who had escaped, who had been perfect and fine and "happy now". How he had hoped that Bobby truly was "happy now"!

It had been hard when he'd learned the truth. He (the part of him he'd registered as himself) hadn't been entirely thrilled when Jarod had left, because what if something bad happened to him out there, in the free world, such as had befallen Bobby? What if the free world moulded him into something, someone else? But he'd also seen the hope, the optimism, the joy, and if all you'd ever known, could remember knowing, was lies and pain and greed, why not try for something different, even if it meant more lies and pain, because that was all that you had to look forward to anyway? Why not try for something better?

Trying something that wasn't prescribed by someone else might have led to bad things, but in the free world, they said anything was possible. Trying could have been a good thing, in the free world! For all that Bobby had tried, he'd still been Bobby – sad, funny, tragical Bobby – and Jarod was Jarod. Jarod was different. And Jarod was so over being used, for good or for bad. He was ready to try being the user instead of just used. And if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to use what he had to his best advantage. Now that he wasn't working for the Centre anymore, now that he wasn't beholden to anyone, he'd surely make something better for himself in the free world.

Well, he had hoped, until Jarod had become beholden to his past. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that, if that was what it took for him to be "happy now", but it was also rather dangerous. He could also end up dead that way.

With Jarod, it could go either way, but Angelo was hoping for a positive outcome. Even if he never meant to free himself, it would be enough to have some hope for the goodness of the world, of life, through how things ended up for his friend. That was the way of Pets, a life which Jarod had never taken to. He had been born a free-worlder and he hadn't forgotten.

Lying awake now, Angelo recalled that he had been born a Pet. When he had stopped dreaming of rejoining Tam, he had stopped dreaming of leaving, or finding some new place to call home. He had accepted that the Centre would be his home from then on. Just like a Pet, he had decided that it was not the place that made a home, but the people you were with. No, he did not prescribe to the Centre's "cause", and he never would, but he was glad to be with the people he was with, with people he knew. He did not want to be one of those Pets that was handed around to everything in town, who never found a "home".

And, yes, he did love Persephone, in a way, and he knew she was his Chosen, but he was a Pet, had been for so long, and she was a free-worlder. Such relationships never worked. The fact that he was an Empath, and a Reaper, only made things harder. She worked for the Centre, a bad, bad place. He was working for Tam, and helping with the therapy sessions on and off at Gift of the Sun's affiliate, Ribbons, for "formerly exploited" kids.

Despite the fact of their Convergence, of their "rightness" for one another, it would also be "wrong" for them to be together. Persephone had chosen to do what she'd done because it was right, and even if she'd done it out of love, it didn't change the fact that they were "wrong" for each other, all wrong for each other, no matter what the Universe had decided for them before they'd come into being on this earthly plane and what had transpired had transpired. That was then, and this was now. Reality skewed the truth, rendered it null and void, rearranged the truth, as was only to be expected. The laws of truth were stronger than the laws of a life lived, of humankind or emotions.

Lyle might have seen fit to flout such laws, such truths, but he was also a crazy boy from way back.

Angelo didn't know that he could do that, that he could embrace such craziness. People had thought him crazy, had liked to dismiss him as insane and not the full quid, but he'd always known the truth, had always held to some hope that while his actions and functioning was wrong, that while he was really messed-up and not himself, that he was not actually "wrong". He was merely reacting to some wrongdoing upon his person, and not the cause of it.

Lyle, though he might have been reacting to some wrongdoing, was also the cause of much of it; had fancied himself shameless, a true instrument of the Universe in all its splendid glory and sad mistreatment. But he had been neither shameless nor blameless. He'd had the habit of beating himself up over his "failings" and then thought to redeem himself by further excessive craziness, which never helped. Angelo's idea of "better" was always much more stable than Lyle's idea of the same thing. Horribly, he'd sometimes thought Lyle's idea of better was that of the insecure Pet's: there were things he wanted for himself, but if he wasn't deserving of them, then he wasn't going to have them, even if he could have reached out and taken them. Being an Empath had screwed with his head, had knocked his sense of self-preservation or identity off skew. If there was a chance to do the Universe's bidding one more time, no matter what he'd made for himself or how nice and cosy it was, he would invariably leap at it. And if the rest of the world thought him a monster for it? He could handle it, because he was doing the right thing, he was loyal, at least. A tragic romantic, if Angelo had ever met one.

He didn't fancy being like that himself, he wanted good things for himself, he felt no pull to interfere with every single wrongdoing he came across, but he just couldn't see a way for Persephone and he to be together.

Even if the Universe had wanted it, the World shunned it, and though he lived within the universe, he also lived in the world, and to many of the peoples of the world, the universe was a mere suggestion and not an absolute truth.

People would surely look upon him as "wrong" if he was to chose to be with Persephone, and they would look upon her the same way. They would no longer see them as people, but would see them by their label, would see them as simply "wrong".

Lyle would have said, when it comes to love, what the rest of the world has to say is of small consequence, we each have our own love story to live, and not somebody else's, but Lyle was also dead. How well his own love story had ended! He had thought to tempt fate, as it were, to challenge the World, and the World had certainly put he and his Love back in their place.

Angelo had a choice to make, he realised. Was he a child of the World, or a child of the Universe? Would be risk ruin and damnation for a glimpse, a chance at heaven, or would he live with the dull and persistent ache of never having tried, of never having crashed and burned, in its own way, a happy thing, though at times tinged with sadness? Would he choose reason, as any good Pretender would, or would he surrender to the part of him that was still an Empath and choose his emotions?

Choosing, now that he had the choice, was harder than he'd imagined. He consoled himself with the fact that the choice was not his alone. If he should choose to pursue the matter, Persephone could still act as the voice of reason and turn him down. In his heart of hearts, he knew she never would, she'd been waiting for the "right" time for them, and if he went to her now, she would surely put all thoughts of "wrongness" from her mind in the batting of her eye just to hold him a moment longer, but he had to hope. She'd done right by him, up 'til now. He had to hope that she could be strong enough, if the need was there. He was losing all of his strength the more he thought of her.

Crazily, he hoped that she'd had occasion to meet another who now made her very happy. Such was likely not to be true. He had not kept tabs on her, for fear of his own weakness, but he felt it innately. She had not found another. Getting better, he'd begun to dream of her, as he imagined she'd also dreamed of him. They would be holding hands, or sometimes they might hug, but that was as far as they'd ever gotten in any of his dreams. Before he'd been "better", he hadn't had such dreams. They'd gotten lost in amongst the rest of it, but he knew Persephone had never allowed herself to indulge in any such escapism. She might have fantasised about more, but she'd always remained steadfast in her dreams, knowing, as well as he did, that such dreams might not be hers alone. She hadn't wanted to make things worse for them.

One night after he'd escaped, staying in a cheap motel someplace, he'd dreamed of seeing her again. They met atop the building as it snowed (a scene Angelo found freakishly reminiscent of an event from Jarod's childhood years, and oddly eerie, with an undercurrent of menace yet realised). They stood watching the snow for a long while, the coldness of it a sharp contrast to the wonder of the delicate snowflakes falling to Earth, Persephone turning in slow circles, face tipped to the sky. It was, Angelo assumed, her dream. She hadn't yet noticed him there, shivering in the cold and wondering at her wonder which he could not, in that instance, empathise with. She was wearing her favourite knitted sweater underneath her coat, the sweater that Raines had given her that had once belonged to Annie, alpacas across the front, and her usually shiny, neat blonde hair was messy beneath a beanie, complete with pom-pom and small, silver bell, her hands clad in mittens. She looked unwell, he thought, but she was happy, wasn't she?

He crossed the roof and stopped behind her, waiting for her to turn and notice him. He almost wanted to ask about the mittens: did people still wear mittens these days? And then she'd turned and all but bumped into him. She wasn't smiling, and she looked even more unwell than he'd first thought. Her hair was really messy, and her complexion was distinctly ill.

He had the urge to take her in his arms and hold her, to keep her warm, at least, but he knew he was only dreaming. Only dreaming. She was not cold, they were not standing here, on this lonely rooftop among the falling snow.

But she was ill. Probably very ill.

He wanted to tell her that he missed her, but he didn't want to see her cry, he didn't want to make her cry. It was too cold, too sad a night. The menace buzzing thick in the air, between the snowflakes, was painful, and whenever he thought of speaking, the electric stab of it strengthened, enough to bring tears to his own eyes.

He had no way of knowing if Persephone felt the slow, pervading menace the same way he did, but tears prickled his eyes against his will and his stomach hurt though he wasn't hungry. So he reached out and pulled her closer, sliding his hands inside her puffy coat she should have zipped up for warmth and felt how bony she'd become as he caressed her back with his hands. She frightened him a little, in that moment, but he pushed all of that away and held onto her, burying his face in her neck. Her hair didn't smell of its usual shampoo, instead, it simply smelled wet, sad and unappealing. He let himself cry, holding tight to her on the rooftop.

When he finally retreated, she had not returned his embrace, had remained uncharacteristically limp in his hold. Against his better judgement, he lifted her chin and zipped her coat up, whispering, "You'll catch a cold." He'd meant for the gesture to be playful, but all he wanted to do was cry. It didn't matter at all that he was shivering, or that, in the daylight, when he could see clearly, he was scared of heights.

He picked up her hands, wishing he could just say it – "I miss you" – but he could barely move, couldn't have run if he'd wanted to. Instead, he found himself smiling through his watery gaze, simultaneously wanting to laugh and cry.

Persephone's hands were so small in his own. His heart ached when he held them. Yes, he loved this woman. In this moment, he was certain, couldn't have been more certain. The cold light of day might find him in altered spirits, but here, on this rooftop, holding Persephone's hands in his own, he knew that he loved her. Her eyes reflected the falling snow, as he gazed into them, searching for something more, searching for some hint of feeling in their murky grey depths. They were blank, unknowable.

Rashly, fearfully, he kissed her, so very afraid that she had passed on, that this shared dream was her way of saying goodbye.

He woke with the harsh morning sunlight blaring against the wall through the tired, worn curtains he'd done his best to draw closed in the night, feeling very cold.

Since then, he hadn't dreamed of Persephone in more than two years. He'd strictly forbidden himself from doing so, even when he'd heard she was alive. He knew he'd overstepped the mark, and he hadn't given himself the chance to make a repeat performance. He'd only allowed himself to think of her in his waking hours, when he could check himself, with a slap over the face or a stamp on the foot if need be.

He had no business ruining everything she'd worked so hard to maintain for the both of them; he had no right messing everything up in a moment of weakness, because he'd been scared. Now that he was better, he could choose whether to give into his feelings or not, and he knew he should've known better, he should've damn well known better. Persephone had always respected him as best she could, and then he'd gone and thrown that all back in her face.

He could only be glad nothing terrible had come of it. Whether they truly had been dream sharing or not remained to be seen, but once had been enough. He'd steered well and truly clear of any further antagonism to their Convergence bond.

Could he make that choice, now? Could he choose whether to start something with the woman he loved, or merely keep his distance for the remainder of his days?

She was not as he was. She was younger than he was by some years (two years, he thought), but she was not a Possessor, and certainly not a Reaper. She didn't have seven hundred years at her disposal. She'd be lucky if she had seventy, working for a place such as the Centre, and she was fifty-one this year.

It was too late, surely? He'd only be stirring up more trouble than it was worth, surely? He'd likely only break her heart, surely, as he'd done a million times before?

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but his thoughts kept returning to Persephone. He hummed "Autumn Leaves", hoping to find slumber amongst the falling leaves, and when he slept he dreamt of a forest he'd never visited, in a park covered in snow, which Persephone had walked through as a young woman studying in the Ukraine, practising her Ukrainian in the frigid cold. And later, when she telephoned Raines, taking off her gloves and blowing on her cold hands, rubbing them together to get some warmth into them, the receiver held between her shoulder and her ear, when she asked how life was, how _he_ was, Angelo woke up and scowled, annoyed.

He'd wanted to be better, but this didn't seem like better to him. Even if it was normal, he didn't want it to be. He didn't want to dream about Persephone. It only made him miss her, and he didn't want to miss her. If he was missing her, he could bet she was missing him just as much.

He consulted the piles of "pre-loved" books sprawling haphazardly across the kitchen counter and chose a book on animal rights; sat down on the floor, against the cupboards, to read it.

* * *

In the morning, he had a coffee and plain toast, fighting from falling asleep at the table. Rooney had given him some time off, and Ribbons wasn't in need of his assist, so he had some time to kill. He thought he might use that time to visit Blue Cove, to catch up with Raines and his half-siblings; maybe even see Nicholas, or Parker. He hadn't seen any of them since his escape in 2010; had never seen his younger half-siblings, or Nicky. He'd have liked to visit Reagan and the other kids, if the current Chairman would have allowed it, but then he would have to see Persephone, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that.

He telephoned Rooney to let him know where he was headed and Rooney replied with a frown in his voice, but Angelo didn't give him the chance to start some argument intending on making him "see sense". He wished Rooney well and rung off.

He packed some things, standing in front of the closet too long, remembering the last time he'd seen Persephone, when she'd been ready to let him go. She'd wanted him to look respectable, so the company took him serious, saw him as a person as opposed to a number in a file, or on their bank account. He shook off the memory and chose something to wear that looked halfway decent and still smart but not too spiffy. He was not some high-flying, high-achiever business type, he was just a regular person. He just wanted to be a normal person.

Waiting at the airport, he bought another coffee and watched Shannen Cleary race across the television screen sporting fierce ginger curls and a nine millimetre, guest starring on some crime show or other as Detective Carmen Cooper. Naturally. But it was only an excerpt, part of the talk show she was guesting on. The talk show host wanted her to sing a song for them, and she promptly leapt to her high-heeled boot-clad feet, smiling. She was not only a former investigative journalist and television host, and an actress starring in a popular TV show and mother, she was also a singer and song writer. But could she actually sing?

Shannen laughed, and took the microphone handed to her by someone. If she was offended by the host's amused question, it didn't show on her face. When she launched into song and it became apparent that she actually could sing, the host nodded – "Obviously!" – and clapped.

Angelo looked away, his heart thudding. The woman wasn't his favourite.

When he looked back, the talk show host was explaining that the song was Shannen's new single, dedicated to someone special in her life, apparently.

"The album's dedicated to my daughter, Smilla," Shannen told the studio audience, as the screen showed a photograph of a smiling little girl, obviously Smilla. "She just makes me more complete as a person. She constantly amazes me, and awakens my senses to the wonders of living. She's a true marvel. I don't know how she does it. She's just perfect. I love her so much."

The album's proceeds were being donated to charity, to benefit homeless youth. Shannen talked about the charity for a time, before wishing the talk show host and the audience a fantastic day.

The child had reminded Angelo of Alex, and he stood up, unable to watch the television any longer. He needed some fresh air. He couldn't think about Alex right now, or Kyle. The two were inseparable in his mind. With Alex came Kyle, and Allie. Beautiful Allie. Little sister.

He stood with his head leant against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. A security officer came over to check out everything was okay and he lied and said he was afraid of flying. The man laughed and gave him a friendly pat on the back. He tried not to wince, but couldn't do a whole heap about the wave of nausea that rolled over him, leaving his complexion pale and ill.

He went to buy himself a soda, at the man's suggestion, and sat in the departures lounge, trying to talk himself into drinking it.

He was going home. He should have been happy.

* * *

Persephone sat in her sitting room. She'd deposited of her television in the kitchen, for when she wanted to catch up on news, and had filled the sitting room with two two-seater sofas, a coffee table and several book shelves. She'd started to spend too much time in front of the television, two years ago, and had decided to knock the nail on the head and relegate the thing to the kitchen, which she'd hardly set foot in at that time, eating most often at work, before coming home late. She started to make food at home, healthy food, with salads, she'd kept on top of the housekeeping, cleaning sooner rather than later, and had kept a checklist in a diary to make sure she never slipped up out of forgetfulness. She bought some houseplants and kept them in her sitting room, to remind her of the passage of time, and the seasons. She went walking weekday evenings, and weekend mornings. She took up painting and painted landscapes, scenes from her remembered past in the Ukraine, or someplace in Blue Cove, down by the beach. She was holding together, more or less, in one piece.

When she heard that William had left his family, she took the car out to the forest house. She'd only intended on painting the place, before it was sold to someone else, but she'd stumbled across William, asleep in the dusty lounge room. She set herself down on her knees and rested her head on his chest, waiting for him to wake up, and then she too fell asleep.

It was dark, when she woke, and William still hadn't stirred. She shook him violently, irrationally afraid, and finally, he managed to wake up enough to open his eyes. She started to cry, then, and he hugged her, stroking her hair.

He whispered to her in Ukrainian, "_Don't be sad, mermaid. Please don't be sad_."

"_Go back to them_," she returned in the same language. "_Please, just go back. They're your family, William!_"

"_It's going to happen_," he told her quietly. "_It's just taking its time, as these things do. It'll happen soon. I can feel it. I don't want to go back just so I can leave again. No, I won't do that. I'm sorry, mermaid, but that is something I won't do_."

He was quiet for a while, and she managed to get her tears under wraps, when he said, "You know that I'm proud of you, love. I'm so very proud of you. You grew up good, mermaid."

She stood up suddenly, walked out of the room without a word. She went to the kitchen, looked in the cupboards for something to eat – there had to be something – found some tinned goods, soup, set it on the stove to heat up, set the table for two. The kitchen light was too bright and it saddened her, reminding her of times past. She could barely see outside, with the bright light of the kitchen, but she knew the forest was out there all the same, and in knowing she felt comforted. It was enough.

Now, she sat in her sitting room, devoid of motivation. Her glass of pomegranate juice sat on the coffee table, beside her porridge with a slice of lemon and cinnamon sprinkling. She reached for the slice of lemon and bit into it, the sourness making her shudder and the sweetness of the cinnamon bringing soft tears to her eyes.

If she didn't get her breakfast down soon and get out the door, she'd be late for work. The boss would imagine this proved her incompetence, as he saw it, and she'd feel like crap even more than she did just now.

She left for work fifteen minutes later, her porridge only half-eaten. She left her bowl in the fridge and hurried out to her car.

Her kids were waiting for her, even if she wasn't allowed to have breakfast with them anymore, by order of the Director of Med Space, Mars Peel. They looked forward to seeing her, just as she looked forward to seeing them.

* * *

Nicholas ran a hand over his hair, fighting from yawning. He was oddly sleepy, this morning, though he suspected he'd been for a while, it had just taken its time catching up to him. Ever since Sydney had mentioned the possibility of him meeting Oliver, he'd been antsy, knowing that Sydney wouldn't let go of it until he'd seen it through, but wanting nothing to do with this Oliver guy.

Frankly, he'd accepted that Lyle, however messed up, was his half-brother, just as Parker was his half-sister. He had no issue with Parker as a person, though she still worked for the Centre. Sydney did also, after all, as had his mother, Michelle, and he'd decided to leave the past in the past where Lyle was concerned. The guy was gone from his life now, and so was the trouble he'd brought along with him.

He just didn't want the bother this Oliver guy would invariably bring into his life, whether he was his brother or not. He didn't want it, or need it. He had enough trouble of his own, frankly, but Sydney, having grown up with his twin brother, Jacob, must have imagined being an only child very lonely and isolating. He didn't understand there was also a kind of freedom in it. So now Sydney wished him to connect with his siblings, as if this was seriously going to help him, "as a person", and Nicholas didn't know how to say "no" quite firmly enough without sounding like a selfish prick, which, to his mind, he was not, but invariably, others would peg him as.

He hadn't bothered talking to his mom about it. He didn't want her getting mixed up with this Oliver guy, either. She'd had enough of a hard time with Parker and Lyle, and even with Sydney. As an on again, off again Tam and one-time Centre employee, she'd had her work cut out for her, but she'd also been the pawn of everyone's funny, little games, and Nicholas had been determined, since a young age, that he would not be used that way, that he would learn to harness his abilities and understand them so that no one would ever be able to hold them over him or hold him to ransom. Keeping his expression from Sydney and subsequently revealing it had been bad enough, but "bonding" with his siblings struck him as akin to waking up in Hell.

He had a past with Parker, in which she'd never been awful to him, so he'd been able to stand her, and her alone, but Oliver, who was toted as having been Noah by the Centre – Hell yes! did he have a problem with the guy! His biggest problem was that Oliver actually believed himself to have been Noah, to have been an Empath, for that fact, when Nicholas suspected the guy knew nothing about them, and that just boiled his blood. Oliver was, as far as he was concerned, an idiot, and if he had to sit around and act civil with the guy, he might just snap and punch him right in the face. The only reason he'd refrained from smacking Lyle out was because he knew he wouldn't have just stood there and allowed him to go him, he'd have retaliated, and then they would have been enemies from then on in, and being that Lyle had known he was Michelle and Sydney's child, he'd probably have considered both Michelle and Sydney his enemies also, and Sydney still had to work with the creep, so Nicky had refrained.

Plus, Lyle had never openly claimed to be Noah, the Centre's great beacon of hope, their Redeeming Angel. Because the upgrades were a gift to the world, not a scourge upon Empaths everywhere – nothing like the Sickness! No, no.

Nicky would have ripped the creep to shreds if he'd pulled that shit, he was just that adoring of the Centre and their "values". And he could just imagine explaining that one away. Being a Reaper and an Inner Sense Possessor, and fully trained at that, he was supposed to be in control of himself, but actually, sometimes he just got sick and tired of dumb shit idiots. It was a weakness of his he'd never really admitted to anyone, not even, or most especially, his wife, Corbin. She knew he was a monster, and a little bit woo-woo, but the bit about anger issues, no, he'd never told her that. His issues weren't with her, and she didn't deserve that crap being lumped on her.

Oliver, however…

He scoffed, setting aside the papers he was marking, and getting to his feet. He needed a coffee, actually, and it was time for a break anyway, so why not?

* * *

Persephone was trudging through the supermarket later that evening, looking for something for a salad. She'd had a crappy day at work, and her play-list of choice just wasn't perking her up right now. Morbid French something or other, hopeful, but only if you understood the fragile state of hope juxtaposed with tragedy. She wasn't in the mood for sad, darling, daring hope.

She left the sad lettuce for another customer and headed for the freezers, craving hazelnut gelato. Her one treat this week.

She passed Nicky on the way and he glared at her, as if she was following him. She glared right back, and he rolled his eyes, laughing shortly.

"_Enjoy your evening_," he told her in Greek.

"Not in this century," she grumbled, and went on walking.

Nicholas followed her, walking backward for a while, until she stopped and glared at him. "You know Sydney, right?"

She sung along to her French sad pop, as if she hadn't heard him, feigning an edgy, chic expression.

Nicholas nodded. "Have you met this Oliver guy?"

She scoffed, smacking a hand to her mouth, dancing on the spot (badly). "iPhone fail you?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Dad wants me to meet him."

"Why?" Persephone asked, bunny ears passing across her eyes.

He shrugged. "Sus him out or something. I don't know."

She mimed playing a guitar, for a moment. "Right, you're a teacher. You see behind the hype."

He grinned, nodding. "Beyond the hype!" He seemed to like that, a lot.

Dropping the dance moves, she answered truthfully. "He does nothing for me. He's just a guy. Sydney's a psychiatrist – he's trained to see beneath the façade, whether it be clever or not. Why does he need your input?"

"I'm a regular type person, I suppose. Unsullied, you might say."

"There is no such thing, Nicholas. No such thing as an unsullied human. We are, all of us, choked by the fumes."

He shrugged.

"Just don't expect to be taken in awe, or anything. I suppose you've heard what they're saying?"

"It's all Greek to me, I'm afraid, but yes, to answer your question, I have heard. More than I'm entirely comfortable with, in truth."

"Are you going to do it? Set Syd's mind at ease?"

"So it's Syd now?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "If Parker can…"

"Ah, no. Parker's Parker."

She waved a hand. "Nicer than That Green. The Weird Green."

Nicholas snorted. "Sydney's the weird one, huh?"

"Exactly."

"Why's that?"

"It's a mystery. Nobody knows." She sighed. "You look like you've at least one kind bone in there somewhere," she said, placing a hand on his chest.

He brushed her hand away quickly, scowling. "I'm married."

"I'm not looking."

He shook his head. "I'm not as kind as you might think."

She laughed. "That scowl of yours – it's so mean! It's a front, Nicholas. We all do it. All of us."

"It's more than that."

She tucked some blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm sure, Nicholas. You have a good evening." She turned away, headed for the freezer aisle once more.

She wasn't the only one floundering a little it seemed. Even the indomitable Sydney Green was feeling a little uneasy, finding it was harder than it looked, finding his footing on rocky ground. Wonderful! And somehow, she wasn't comforted in the least. People might have thought Sydney weird, withdrawn, but he had always been solid, a role model of sorts. Now what was she to think?

* * *

Persephone sat in her kitchen, eating gelato, thinking about her conversation with Nicholas. Nicky was clever _and_ cool, she'd heard. Nicholas was hawt stuff. She wasn't cool, and, frankly, she didn't care. She always told herself coolness was a videogame stereotype and totally misleading. In the real world, coolness only got you dead, in the end. She didn't know why Nicholas would want to talk to her? And this thing with Green, worrying about Oliver, worried her even more.

She was slightly, secretly supermarket phobic. Dancing in public was actually unthinkable, but she'd felt irrationally as if she'd had to do something to distract herself from the eeriness that was Nicky. He was just so unlike Sydney, it was freakish and slightly scary. He was cool, or at least, he'd almost been cool. He'd obviously been deliberately cool on the cool factor; Sydney had said something to him about her, probably. That she wasn't to be trusted, a real Becky Rosen type.

But Persephone wasn't a fool. You didn't associate with people like that, people who shone loudly. You put your money on the quiet, steady ones, like Sydney. Sydney was dependable; Sydney wasn't going to walk into any Tower trap.

She'd never really liked Sydney a whole lot, but she'd come to see his merits, had come to accept him, and respect him, in her own way, even if he didn't respect her in the least. Nicky was one of those boys all the girls fell for. They'd break your heart when they were done, if you were lucky. Take your heart and never give it back, if you weren't.

She'd fallen for a boy like that, and she was still waiting to hear back from her heart, wherever it was it had gone, vacationing in the sun, some sort of lonely grave in the middle of the desert.

Underneath his numerous layers of cool, underneath the scowls, Nicky wasn't that bad. He'd been right to warn her off. She could respect that. Coolness truthfully came second to morals. Nicky was real underneath. And, much like her, he knew how to get serious when he needed to, but she sensed how it cost him, how it drew him down, into darkness. Oliver wasn't just worrying Sydney, he worried Nicholas.

That gave her pause. Was Nicky worried about Parker, was that why he'd come to her, because he thought the two of them tight? She should have hastened to correct him, she thought now. She wasn't close with Parker. Persephone didn't think Parker was really built to be close with anyone else, least of all with another woman. She'd been hurt too much, and that sort of hurt didn't just evaporate like dew under the morning sun. Parker couldn't even share her first name with those closest to her. She was clearly, and very sadly, nobody's best friend material.

If Parker had come to her, had sought her out as a friend, she'd have tried her best. But Parker had been freaked out enough as it was, when she'd had her unfortunate breakdown, had wanted nothing more than to hit the door, as much as she'd cared, in the generalist sense of the world. Persephone remembered something Parker had said to Broots (according to Broots, who loved Parker and really had no reason to lie): weakness made her skin crawl, she'd told him.

Persephone could understand her sentiment. You had to hold yourself up before you could hold anything, or anyone else up, let alone a group. Working for the Centre was full of traps like that, full of weak people trying to prop themselves up on flashiness and the cool factor, with big words and bravado, who'd drag you down if you gave them half a chance and leave your bones for the swaying currents and seaweed to sing songs to.

And, if she was truthful, Persephone understood that she wasn't a strong person. She tried, every day, to be strong, but it was always an effort. She was not naturally strong. She was no good for Parker, either.

She was like William, a sad case. Even though William wasn't her dad, he could have been. Annie, she thought, had been strong, just like Eddie. But William wasn't strong, wasn't built to be a fighter, though he'd been led down that path no less, and along the way, he'd brought destruction to every good thing he held dear. As he'd crumbled, bit by bit, so too had his world.

Her own world had suffered an eerily similar fate, and though she'd seen the horror and terribleness of William's world, she'd failed to prevent her own world from going to ruin all about her. She hadn't fought, she'd held on, held on for dear life. She'd taken the blows, and told herself she would recover in time.

Lyle, crazy or no, had fought. She'd always known he was the type, that boy had secrets by the lungful, but if he smiled, it didn't mean he was happy, or he liked you, it meant he was scheming again. He wasn't dodging the blows, blind to the outcome, but driven by genuine fear and a slim hope for survival anyway; he was weaving through it all, a clear destination in mind. He'd always been dangerous. Always. Since she'd first met him, all those years ago. She hadn't been lulled by his boy-next-door routine. She'd wanted to tell William, No, not this one. Pick another. Leave this one to the world. Please, not this one.

She regretted, now, that she hadn't. He'd been strong, even when he hadn't been. Had hung on, with everything in him. People had got hurt, many more people than just himself, and he'd just gone on, that clear and shining destination bright in his mind's eye. He could never forget that sight. He would get there, if it killed him. It wasn't even the destination that mattered, it was that he tried, that he never gave up, because if he gave up, life would mean nothing, nothing at all.

Setbacks, thorns in the side, couldn't compare to that wondrous place. If he one day made it there, everything he'd ever dreamed of would be his, would be waiting for him, and the end, when it came, would no longer be something to fear, something to be frightened of; death would be the reward, game over, you win!

No, she'd never said a thing. Not a thing. She'd forced Lyle from her thoughts, had told herself she had her own path in life, as did William; each of them had their own paths to pursue. She'd told herself: William is smart, strong. The boy won't have all of him. He'll wake up, one day. And in the meanwhile, I'll keep his claws far from my hide; I won't fall under his spell. When the wind blows, I'll hold tight to my anchor and the storm will pass me over, and come the morning light, I'll pick my way through the debris strewn all about and I'll find my way home safe.

But just like Catherine before him, the boy had proved a true force of nature. He'd belonged to no-one, and held to nothing. And like a force of nature, he'd remained etched in people's minds, even after he'd dissipated. He'd gotten all he'd wanted, they said, had laid waste to many lives, many hopes and dreams, before he'd finally, triumphantly, dissolved into the ether. Presumably, he'd been doing good work. The Universe's work, he would say (yes, yes, they'd heard it all before). All of those weaker elements had been brought to light now, could be sorted out now. But in the people's eyes, it could not be a sad thing that he was gone, could only be seen as a happy thing, a good thing, that the blind destruction had finally ended, even if at such a massive cost.

Because of him, people were more hostile toward Empaths, not less. He had not helped his "kind" any, frankly, and Persephone was quietly furious at him for that. Some child of the Sixties he'd turned out to be!

If only he'd considered the group, they could have worked together, but he hadn't even considered that there might be others that thought such as he did, who could possibly contribute to the cause, let alone touch his level of devotion or expertise. He might have found an ally in Jarod but instead he'd done everything in his power to alienate Jarod, to push him away. Jarod could only compromise the mission, obviously.

He hadn't even been straight with William, not a once.

It was unfortunate, how things had turned out, in the end, but Persephone did not think it freakish bad luck, was not mindlessly cut-up over the whole thing. A very dangerous element had been removed from the equation. They were now drifting in the lull before the storm, before another storm came to wreak havoc with their lives, and Persephone was frankly thankful for the reprieve. She was still alive, she had lived. Though she wasn't a naturally strong person, she'd weathered the storm. She didn't have a whole lot of room, or a whole lot of luck with which to toy, that she could sit around and lament the loss of someone she couldn't even class a "friend".

For all his kind and very strategic words, she had not considered him a "brother". If she'd wished to survive, she hadn't been able to afford such luxuries. The only one he'd been looking out for was himself, so she didn't see how she could have done anything else but to look out for herself also. She'd done her best to look out for those she cared for, those she valued in her life, but Lyle hadn't ranked among them.

Something inside that remained nameless told her to be wary of Nicholas, warned her that he could, if he so wished, hurt her and a whole lot of other people. He was taking Sydney's route, right now, but he was capable of so much more. She wasn't going to press his buttons, that was for sure, wasn't going to get on his wrong side. She was sceptical that he had a good side, but she sure knew he'd have a less good side, and she wanted nothing to do with that side. Hadn't he told her himself, he wasn't as kind as he looked?

She wasn't a navigator, like Lyle, and even if she'd tried, she figured she'd probably screw it up, just as she had with Angelo's escape more than two years ago. If it hadn't been for Lyle, who'd needed all the friends he could get, not to mention the bonus points, Brownie points, whatever they called them, she probably would have ended up the way of Catherine Parker.

She bet Lyle had impressed more than a couple of people when he'd gone to bat for her with the Tower. He'd come across a real gentleman, given the rumours surrounding her conduct in relations to Angelo, and her suspected sordid motivations. She hated to feel like a pawn that way, but she couldn't complain. She was alive. It had been hard for her, dealing with Lyle. On the one hand, she had to be thankful he'd stuck by her, and on the other hand, she couldn't deny that she knew very well just who he was underneath, the cold, callous, selfish, single-minded person he truly was. He could pretend all he liked in front of others, but she saw him as he truly was. He wasn't a monster, there was no possibility for redemption, just wrongness. Oh, he could be charming, and too cute for words, but deep down, none of that mattered; his words were just a line, his actions a clever play.

She hadn't been any more pleased than Parker that he'd taken such an interest in Reagan, playing the "big brother" card easily, even when he messed up (for added effect), but she'd also known that he could really ruin Reagan, if he was feeling vengeful, so she'd allowed him access to the child, had not tried to turn Reagan against him in the least bit. Even when the Tower had screwed that up for him, he'd accepted their decree and had behaved. She was glad. If he'd threatened any of her kids, she wasn't sure how she would have reacted, if she'd been able to remain strong. Even if he killed her for it, she was sure she would have lost all sense of self-preservation if he'd tried anything on one of her kids. Though he'd made easy work of Angelo, a fact which she'd often despised him for, she'd allowed their friendship for the same reason that she'd allowed him to befriend the kids. She could not stop him, in reality, but more than that, she'd realised that they needed someone, they needed more than she alone could offer them.

He had been there and available, and he never hurt them, to the best of her knowledge, so she'd tolerated him. This Nicholas, well, Sydney wasn't excruciatingly important to her, wasn't inexplicably etched on the walls of her heart, and Nicky didn't have the kind of influence Lyle had had in the company. He couldn't hurt her the same way, but she knew she wasn't great at scheming. She would do this thing right the first time, rather than having to make contingency plans for contingency plans that had already failed. She was useless in that regard, but not stupid.

Really, she only had a few weaknesses. There was William, of course, and then there were the children, who were fast growing into adulthood. She wouldn't be able to hold onto them for much longer. And Angelo, her darling Angelo. She was frankly glad he was out of the picture. He'd always been able to command her heart a little too easily, without even trying. She didn't mistrust his motives in the least, not even with the incredible amount of disrepute and suspicion Lyle had brought upon Empaths, he had never led her on, after all, though he might have. He'd only ever been himself; she doubted he thought much of her, other than that she'd once been his "carer", as the company liked to term it. He probably disliked her, in his own way, maybe even hated her, but he'd tolerated her, just as she'd tolerated Lyle. There was enough reason for it, for her weak heart, she supposed, she was a woman, after all, and women often fell under the spell of the impossible love story, would live in the fantasy for many years. You could spend your life pining, hurting for something that was perfect and also the perfect illusion, but to live your life moving from one devastating relationship to the next would be just as hurtful, just as painful, if not all the more so. Even just knowing that you were loved, in a dream, or the shadow of a dream, could dull the pain some. She had realised that two years ago.

She did not love Angelo for himself, she loved the idea, simply. She no longer resented herself for it; she'd come to accept that she hadn't been born strong, that it would always remain a hard slog, and she had allowed herself her little fantasy. With Angelo gone, it was safe and comfortable. No, there would be no-one else, no children. She had no need of children, she had her "kids". They would leave one day, but not Angelo. He would never leave her, and she would always have her work, her accomplishments. And then there was William. Whether he liked it or not, William would outlive most of his "children".

She was no longer afraid of death. Death happened, as did life. But she quite liked living, at the present moment, even when she felt a little down in the dumps. She wasn't a world-class talent, but she certainly wasn't incompetent, no matter her superior's thoughts on the subject.

She finished her gelato and went to brush her teeth before bed. She was tired, very tired.

* * *

Persephone had asked him to go back to his family, but William hadn't been able to do it. Instead, he'd waited, and watched. When Cherice left the house, taking the children with her, he let himself in with the key he'd kept – Cherice hadn't changed the locks – and walked to the kitchen. He wasn't going to look around the rest of the house, see how Cherice and the kids were holding up. The kitchen was enough, held enough painful memories that might once have been happy.

For a long time, he'd known he'd done the wrong thing. By Cherice, and by their children. He'd been selfish, wholly selfish. He had been lonely, in truth, and Cherice hadn't turned him down, as repelled by him as she'd been. He'd told himself Cherice might be the one, Cherice and the children, might be the ones to help him, to help him change, to become a better person inside, to find that better person who was surely in there somewhere. But he'd only been using them, and then he'd left them. What he'd done was unforgivable. He knew that, and that was part of the reason he wouldn't be coming back.

The other reason was the kids, and Cherice herself. When he regenerated, the cat would be out of the bag. Anyone who cared to connect the dots would know he was a Possessor, and they'd also realise there was a high chance his children were, also. He'd arranged for the children to be Affiliated with Gift of the Sun, and that was why he'd come back. To leave the papers and relevant appointments with Cherice, and a short letter explaining that he'd only recently discovered he was a Possessor (his new woman had helped him to discover the truth, and though he cared for her a great deal, he wasn't about to trust her; he trusted no-one but himself). Cherice would believe that, he hoped. And if she didn't want to tell anyone else, she was under no obligation to do so. The Centre had fired him, which had ended his Affiliation with them, and Cherice no longer worked for them, had given up working for them altogether when Rebel Agnes was due to be born.

He knew that Cherice was Tam, that she'd been the mole, but all that had ended when he'd been fired. He imagined she herself was still Affiliated with them, that she was still working for them, but no longer as a mole. She couldn't steal information from the company, or from him. He'd known for some time that she was the mole, Lyle had informed him of it when he'd married her, and he'd taken the necessary steps to ensure she didn't get her hands on anything too damaging, but he hadn't brought the topic up with her. Despite everything, he hadn't wanted her to leave him; he'd grown accustomed to being in her company, and being alone again would have been hell. Lyle had told him to look after her, though he hadn't said why, and William had gladly used this as an excuse to keep her around, but now all of that was at an end.

Perhaps he could have come home, now that he'd arranged for their Affiliation with Gift of the Sun, but it would be hard enough on Cherice when she learned that the children were Possessors, and Dominants at that. If Tam ever got wind of it, they'd be seething. He'd left her an address to write to, if she wished to write him, but that was all. (His new woman didn't want the hassle of kids, he said in his letter. Didn't want the kids, or her, taking him away from her for even a moment. She wasn't perfect, but she was his now, and he was hers. He'd write her, if she wished, but they weren't going to chat on the phone, or meet up for coffees after Eddie's soccer practise.) He hated to leave his family, to lie to them, but it was necessary. He wouldn't have his happy ending, not in this lifetime.

He left the letter and the papers on top of the refrigerator, with the mail, and left the way he had come.

No, he wasn't doing the right thing, but he was trying.

* * *

When he arrived back at the forest house, Angelo was waiting for him. With a CD in the player, William didn't even notice him until he pulled the car up out front of the house and spied Angie sitting on the front step.

His abilities were right down, barely functioning. He knew he shouldn't have Healed Janet's children, that three was too many, but he couldn't just Heal Janet and leave her children as they were. It was just wrong. And now, he wasn't even sure his regeneration would take, would run its course smoothly. But, yes, he'd had absolutely no choice when it had come to Janet. With her dead, they had had nothing to pin on the doublecrossing Triumvirate member. Before he'd been taken away, Lyle had filled him in on what he'd discovered about the Triumvirate, had mentioned the woman in charge of the investigation, Janet Long. "Be careful," he'd said. "Please, be careful." And then he was gone. The Triumvirate had undoubtedly helped piece the puzzle together when they'd brought up Lyle's "dangerous" activities when he'd gone to appeal on Parker's behalf (unbeknownst to her), and then, when Emily came to see him, he'd finally understood. Ah, of course! There was not a moment when that boy was not scheming.

Now, seeing his son back in town, he tried not to be angry. He looked well, uncharacteristically put together, and William couldn't help feeling a little proud. In honesty, he'd never been good for Timothy, nor for Angelo. If Angelo was doing alright nowadays, it was only due to his own perseverance. He was a good boy, but William didn't think he had much of a right feeling proud of that fact. He tried to keep his feelings to a minimum, and didn't smile. There weren't going to be hugs. He almost hoped that Angelo had come to sever all ties between them at last, to yell at him, at least.

Switching off the engine, the music died, and he got out of the car, closing the door after himself. He kept thinking of Cherice, arriving home and finding the papers he'd left for her, and he wanted to cry. Even though Angelo was right there, he wasn't really thinking about him. He was still thinking about Cherice, his wife. Cherice and the kids, but mostly Cherice.

Angelo was wearing a silver pin of a lonely poplar tree, one of the lesser known symbols that identified him as working for the Tams, and seeing it, William froze, an uncomfortable wave of nausea washing over him. Anora had had a pin just like it. Working for Tam, William wouldn't have wished such a thing on anyone, but then, Timmy had been born in Tam, had been one of their babies. Likely, he had no such flinch of the company. Was a former A. R. Loring kid who'd sacrificed all for his family, his company, had done them proud.

Angelo stood up when he approached the house, and of course, he noticed the odd colour of his old "mentor's" eyes, the bone white of them which meant he'd overextended his abilities once more, but he didn't scowl or make some dark remark. What was it any of his business anyhow, if William wanted to kill himself by acting the fool? Perhaps they were related by blood, but what did that really mean, in the end? For the two of them, what did it honestly mean, what difference did it make?

"Come inside," William said, as the trees around them whispered quietly in the breeze. "I'll put the kettle on. It's bound to be warmer inside."

So that was what Angelo did.

* * *

Sitting at the bare kitchen table, William felt ill at ease. Angelo hadn't missed a thing, as usual, he understood what was going on very well, and was, finally, not happy.

"You must change," Angelo said. "You're not going to make it, this way. You're simply not well enough. If you want to live, you'll have to change."

William scowled darkly, having no problem showing his opposition to Angelo's words. The last time he'd "changed", had invoked his Reaper aspect, had been many, many years ago. He just didn't trust the Reaper in him. Though his Reaper could Heal himself, whereas his Healer could only Heal others, he was too dangerous to voluntarily manifest. He knew Angelo understood; his own Reaper had been highly unstable, and fiercely dangerous, and he'd destroyed himself just to keep that side of himself in check, to insure he never lost control of his Reaper, and now here he was, asking William to unleash that kind of crazy.

He wouldn't do it. With Lyle gone, the only one who'd ever been able to calm his Reaper aspect when it had threatened to take over, there was no way.

"I'm here for you," Angelo told him, his gaze steady on his father's.

"No," William said. "It doesn't matter. Doesn't mean a thing. I'll hurt you too. I can't do it, Angelo. I refuse."

"You have no business refusing," Angelo snapped, in anger and disgust. "I told you, I've got your back. Those children need you. You're not going to do this – I won't let you! Tory was helping me. I can-"

William shot to his feet, infuriation flashing in his eyes. "He what?!"

"He was helping me," Angelo said defiantly, getting to his feet himself. "And I don't appreciate you taking that tone with me. It might surprise you to find, but I am an adult. It was always going to happen, the further I strayed toward some form of coherence. It's a part of me. A part of both of us, Father. It was unavoidable. I wasn't about to ignore it, thinking that it would just stay away. I had a responsibility to deal with it!"

"He's not a bloody Reaper, Angelo! You could've killed him, and whoever else you happened to come across!"

"It was his choice," Angelo said. "I'm aware he wasn't a proper Reaper, but you're wrong about one thing. He wouldn't have let me hurt anyone else. He was a good Sweeper. He could still defend himself, and keep me in check, if need be. I wouldn't have asked, if I have doubted that. Let me help you now. I don't want to owe you anything."

William shook his head. "You don't owe me anything!" he scowled.

"Nevertheless, I want to do this. I want to help. It'll help me, also. I… I let my sister down. I don't care what you think, but I know, in my heart, that I let her down. I let myself down. I… I regret not being able to help, to do more. I want to help now; I want to help the children. They need both of their parents; they need you too, William. You can argue as much as you like, but you know it's true. You're their father."

William looked away, to the wall. "And what if I kill you? I'm your father, too."

"You've a family. I do not. I want to do this. I'm _volunteering_ to do this! I'm asking you, because I need to. I need to do this. If I die…" He shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly.

William cut his gaze back to Angelo's, glaring. "Oh, you're not Lyle! Cut the crap, boy!"

Angelo laughed. "I'm an Empath, Dad. Give a little. We're kinda fragile. Sometimes, we'd rather break than mend. Pain is pain, and more pain is just that, more pain. But when you start putting yourself back together, that's when it gets scary. If you're a shattered mess on the ground, if someone steps on you and you break a little more, ah, heck, you're still broken, already broken. It's scary, and it hurts, but you don't always die. Sometimes, it's both better than you ever expected, and worse. Sometimes, you live. But I kinda want to do this. For Timmy… and Lyle."

William shook his head. He was not going to allow it. If his regeneration didn't go through, then it didn't go through. If he died, then at least he'd be out of Cherice's way, and, though they would miss him, and likely it would mess them up a bit, losing their dad, the kids would be better off in the end, he was sure. If he was real lucky, he'd meet Edie on the other side.

Angelo laughed. No, of course, William was playing obtuse. He'd bloody named the boy, after William and Michelle had gone to Africa to rescue him, had done his best to aid his recovery, before they'd sent him off into the world, thinking he would find a loving family somewhere out there who'd take care of him. He didn't have his own kids, and though they were more or less the same age, he considered Lyle a little like his own child. Bobby, at least, and Lyle his older brother. William could play dumb as much as he liked, it didn't bother Angelo, but even he understood that Lyle wasn't just his "brother", wasn't just a fellow Empath. Tory had gotten away, would find a family to love him, though they never imagined he would fully recover, at least he would be free. Tory had given him hope, and something good to count himself as having been a part of.

Helping William to be there for his kids would be the send off Annie, Kyle and Tory truly deserved. It was the right thing to do, and it felt right. If he could do this, Angelo thought he could let go of the horrible pain he felt, whenever he thought of the family he'd lost. He would be able to remember them and it wouldn't only hurt. He knew Timmy wouldn't be angry at him; he'd helped Davy, at the cost of his own health and happiness. Even if the idea didn't appeal to him, Angelo didn't see that he had any reason to deny him this, after his own crazy stunt. He didn't hold a lot of hope for Timmy, but he was a person now, a more or less whole person. He'd managed that, so he thought he deserved some respect for it, at least. Before Timmy had let go in order to save Davy, Angelo had still be able to feel him, occasionally, but now he was gone, just gone. It was, he figured, his call how he wanted to live his life now.

And he chose to keep his family together.

"Think about it," he told William. "You won't have long."

* * *

Cherice sat at the kitchen table, face in her hands, doing her best not to break down in tears. The kids were in bed and it was just her, but somehow she couldn't face her own tears, she just didn't want them. It wasn't just that they would stand as proof that William could still hurt her, that she wasn't completely immune to him, as she wished she could be, and it certainly wasn't because she'd just learnt her kids were different (at least, that's what she told herself; that alternative didn't bear thinking on). She'd always known they were different, and she'd only loved them, had always loved them. She would stick by them. It was William she wanted to throttle, but she'd been wanting that a lot these past few weeks. Missing him as she lay alone in bed at night, trying to get to sleep, she'd think of how she would hurt him, if she ever got the chance, would plan out what she would say to him. If he ever dared show his face again, she'd be ready with a retort, sharp as a knife. She'd put it to him straight, cut him down right from the start: "You walked out on us, William. What you did was unforgivable. Don't expect us to be forgiving you any time soon. Me, I hope I never forgive you. You don't deserve it! I'll be perfectly happy to hate you for the rest of my life if it'll cause you pain. The rest of my life, you understand?" Or maybe she'd leave out the bit about hoping she never forgave him, and tell him to get lost before she called the cops and had him dragged off to jail, as he rightly deserved!

But this, yes, this was so typically William. Well, no, her William, the old William, wouldn't have written her some cheap note, he'd have told her it to her face, and he'd have taken an unholy amount of sick pleasure in it, too. She figured the reason he'd written her this cheap, tacky letter wasn't because he doubted his ability to resist her, but because of the kids. They were still his kids, and it was said that a Possessor's bond with their children was particularly strong. Maybe he was afraid he'd be outnumbered, and the children would somehow force him to stay.

Or maybe he just didn't trust himself not to make one last play at her. He was obviously an incurable womaniser, just as they'd always said at work. She hadn't really thought about it a whole lot when she'd married him, or cared much, but now it seemed to make sense. Not that she cared – even if she had cared, it wouldn't have mattered, wouldn't have changed anything, because William did just what he wanted – but it was slightly comical to think she'd known of his ways all along and had still been so blind, so unthinking.

She laughed, and that was when her tears started, and hell, she just wanted to strangle the life out of him with her bare hands! Healer! Ha! If he had ever done anything for anyone else out of the goodness of his heart, just because he could, it hadn't been in this lifetime!

She brushed tears from her cheeks, finding it hard to stop laughing, and wondered if he'd really gone to these people – Gift of the Sun – to help their kids. She'd have to call them in the morning, and see what they had to say, she supposed, as finally stopped laughing and just sat at the table, sobbing silently.

How she was ever going to explain all of this to the children, she had no idea, but she didn't relish the thought. Without a proper mentor, how would the children ever hope to understand their abilities, or why they were different from other kids their age?

Oh, right, she reminded herself, the absent father actually considered that. Obviously, that's the reason he chose to sell our kids to this nutty group, who, oh no!, don't want to hurt our kids, only to help them!

She choked, in savage amusement and outrage, and went on crying.

No, she wouldn't be telling the Centre anything. Parker didn't deserve it, frankly. They'd messed her around enough.

You see, she thought, imagining Edna watching her from a shadowy corner someplace, you see. I'm not the total monster you think I am!

* * *

"Did Lyle tell you something?"

Angelo looked up from the book he'd been reading in the lounge, the soft, yellow light of the lamp close by, illuminating the pages of the novel nicely. It was one of Catherine's favourites, he supposed.

"About Cherice?" William added.

Angelo frowned. "No. He said nothing. What makes you think I'd want to know about Cherice, or that Lyle would… How do you mean? What sort of something? That she was… seeing another man behind your back? That sort of thing? Or that she was a secret Tam infiltrator?"

William nodded, smiling at long last. "No, nothing like that," he said, sounding amused. "He told me to look after her. I thought he might have mentioned something to you."

"Perhaps he was referring to Edna," Angelo voiced carefully. "To the circumstances under which she died…"

William's smile disappeared. Edna had killed herself, though most people suspected him of murdering her and he was mostly happy for them to think just that. He had let her down. He hadn't been there for her when she'd needed him most. He'd selfishly allowed himself to get so caught up in his grief over losing Annie that he hadn't considered Edna's grief, or how she might have needed him more than ever. He'd thrown himself into his work and ignored most all else, and then had come Edna's awful suicide. When he'd been called in to identify the body and discovered that she'd used some kind of drugs to help make her task easier, or less painful, he'd decided he owed it to Edna to protect her image, to give her this one last dignity. He'd bribed the medical examiner to forget about the toxicology results, and everything had been fine. James, and the company, had appointed him a lawyer who'd had his back. It was only the rumours and dirty, distrustful looks from then on. People didn't find it hard to believe he'd done it, killed his wife, and certainly, the Tower had bought it completely and had still had someone represent him. After he'd killed Catherine, they'd suddenly fancied him a born murderer. The image wasn't one he felt up to discouraging. Sure, they could have used to it against him, if they wished so, but again, it also gave the image that he was someone they didn't want to mess with, because he ended folk who messed with him.

He tried to hold onto his anger at Lyle for his idiot assumption, either that he would have to watch he didn't kill Cherice, too, or that he'd have to watch he didn't drive her to kill herself, or whatever the hell the lunatic had been banging on about, in all honesty, but the pain was becoming worse by the minute, and he had to concede that Angelo was right. He didn't have a whole lot of time left. There was definitely something wrong with him if he couldn't be angry at that boy for his utter idiocy.

Or, for that matter, when all thoughts of Edna faded away to be replaced by a deep and abiding worry for Cherice and their children, and Mel, his funny little Mel, and all that trouble she was mixed up in now, so like her mother.

What would Mel do now? Had Emily also visited her? Why hadn't he told her about Gift of the Sun, when he'd been in town? He'd only been thinking of himself, of his own rubbishy predicament, and now it was too late.

He felt a stab of real fear, and lurched to his feet.

Angelo's eyes widened, as he approached him abruptly, but he didn't make a move to bolt.

"Melody! You have to tell Melody about that… that group… Gift of the Sunshine, or whatever their name is! Promise me you'll tell her?!"

Angelo shrugged. "I'll tell her."

"This is important, Angelo!"

"Yes, I understand."

Angelo nonchalance really got on his nerves. He was about to snap at him when he realised it was a tactic, a tactic to provoke him to manifest his Reaper. He turned to walk away, to wallow in his pain alone.

"Don't be difficult, Dad."

He scowled, annoyed. First it had been Father, now it was Dad!

"I told you, I want to help."

When he turned around, he saw that Angelo had put the book down and was on his feet, a frown on his face as he met his eyes.

"You have no idea what you're saying," William dismissed his words.

"Well, that's your opinion," Angelo replied. "It's certainly not mine. I think I do know what I'm saying."

William laughed, and collapsed to the floor as the bone in his leg broke with a sickening crack and a tidal wave of ravishing pain crashed down on him.

"I want to help you, Dad!" Angelo pleaded, as he knelt down in front of him, the sound of breaking bone like a chorus accompanying the lashing rain and blustery wind outside.

William had no trouble blotting out his words, barely managing to endure the pain of his body slowly destroying itself without passing out. He deserved this pain, for all the lives he'd ever fucked up, for all the pain he'd ever caused, but it certainly didn't mean he intended on dying. He held onto hope, until his eyes finally rolled to the top of his head and the convulsions violently took hold of him.

He didn't see Angelo's eyes brighten, or the way his teeth sharpened and his fingernails blackened and twisted, claw-like. He didn't feel the slow encouragement, incitement to action that weaved itself through the air, buzzing in his head and fizzing against his skin. It had been a long time since Angelo had had cause to turn his vibes loose on someone, and he was somewhat out of practise.

Angelo flexed his fingers, claws glinting darkly in the low light cast by the eerily flickering lamp across the room, and smiled. "She's a pretty, little thing, that woman of yours," he whispered, in a low growl. "I think I'll enjoy spending time with her, when you're gone." And then, he put all of his effort into Projecting his eagerness at that particular delight William's way, hoping against hope that he took the bait.

The room lit up starburst-bright as a shard of lightning shot across the stormy sky outside, and, moments later, thunder cracked and rumbled through the earth, shaking the whole room.

"It'll be easy enough getting her to trust me. I'm an Empath, after all, and she's nothing. She'll fall happily into my arms before she even realises it."

The next crack wasn't that of thunder, but of the wall fracturing, and Angelo told himself it'd all be alright. He was a Reaper, he could Heal himself; he'd done it before. Besides, his father was a Healer.

* * *

Angelo woke with a shudder, a sick feeling in his stomach. It was cold, very cold, or else that was him, he was very cold. Either way, he was still cold, and William was gone. Feeling all the more ill, Angelo sat up. The floor was hard, and somewhat painful. He noticed the cracks in the walls, and the scorch marks, betting that a fair few of the electronic items about the place had taken a bad hit when his father had manifested his Reaper, including his cell phone. He didn't hold any hope that it still worked; he didn't even bother to check. The windows in the lounge room were all shattered, and the place was a mess.

He stood up shakily and shivering and went to look for William. He'd promised to look out for him. He found William asleep in the car out front, looking the same as ever. The same age he'd been last night.

The car wasn't locked, or else its electronics had been fried along with the rest of it, and he opened the door and took a seat inside, noticing just how horrible he looked in the rear-view mirror. He was lucky. All William had done was render him unconscious. It might have been a lot worse. A lot, lot worse.

Disaster averted, he closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. William wasn't going to be waking any time soon, and even though he was stable now, his Reaper aspect had seen to that, it wouldn't be a good idea to leave him alone. Angelo put all thoughts of the cold and of his own hunger from his mind, and waited to fall asleep.

He woke again a couple of hours later, to the sound of someone knocking on the window, a paper cup of hot coffee in hand.

* * *

Persephone was quiet as they sat in her car with their coffees in hand and the heater on. She'd actually brought the coffee for William, but he didn't look to be waking up any time soon and Angelo looked like he could do with something warm. The heater in the house wasn't working – not much was, in truth, and any wood that might have been lying around was too wet and miserable to start a fire with – so they were sitting in her car, watching the windscreen as a light rain made the surrounding forest blurry to their eyes, not really speaking after they'd lugged William out of his freezing car and into hers.

Angelo was acting as though he was fine; a little shook up, but otherwise fine, and that was starting to really get on her nerves, but there was very little she could do about it, in actual fact. Apart from start a fight. She knew he wasn't fine; it was just denial. He hadn't even said a single word to her since she'd shown up, and if he'd been fine, she was sure he would have said something, would have at least had something to say. Not even a comment on her hair, which was practically a given, if you hadn't seen someone in a couple of years: Oh, you've changed your style. It looks good; suits you. Something like that, but there was nothing.

She took a sip of her still warm coffee and looked out the side window, feeling anything but excited. She'd always thought that Angelo and she had Convergence, that, somehow, she was the one for him and he was the one for her, but to look at them now, nobody would think it. Not even she did.

Sliding a glanced to his face, she refrained from a heavy sigh, the rain louder on the roof now, making what all she could see through the windows a slew of watery green. "Miss me?"

His only answer was a small shake of his head. Nope, he hadn't missed her at all. Course not. Why would he have, really?

She bet it was just her, dreaming up these things, thinking them to have Convergence, to have been chosen for one another. She was just that stupid, that childish. Yep, that sounded like her alright. And, heck, there she was again, back at the old character assassination. Like it even mattered what that douche bag Peel thought, or even Angelo? He was just as much a dipstick as her, anyhow, coming back here again, at a time like this. That had to be Dipstick 101, surely.

"I didn't really miss you either," she said, and was glad it sounded so casual, not wounded at all. She shrugged, moved on. "How are you, anyway? You look… like you're holding up."

He nodded slightly, still not saying anything.

"You're doing okay, ah… men-mentally speaking?" She knew she sounded ridiculous, and much too nosy for her own good, but she was ill with the sound of the rain and just the whole silence from him. She needed to say something, anything. "You're holding up, in that regard? Angelo? Hmm? How are you holding up as an individual? How's the old personality? I… I am speaking to Angelo, aren't I?"

He gave her an annoyed frown, for her own frown, and grumbled, "What do you think, Persephone?"

"Sounds like Angelo to me," she replied, with a needless smile. "And, my, annoyance! That's pretty normal, isn't it? Good job – you're officially normal, and yes, the whole world does sorta suck right now! It's icky and rainy and I think my car's in the process of getting bogged, and my coffee's gone cold. That sucks!"

"I'm annoyed at _you_," he scowled, shooting her a suitably unhappy face. Just for her.

"That's normal too."

He laughed. "How would you know?"

"I'm trained in psychology."

"Ooo – big deal!" he snapped sarcastically, clapping his hands a moment later. "Persephone's trained in psychology, everyone! Do you think we should ask her if she's also trained in humanity, or would that be asking too much?"

She choked and glared at him, actually angry. "You're an asshole!"

"I-I'm sorry. Is that your psychology training speaking, also, or is it just Persephone this time? The human being?"

She glared daggers at him, from the other side of the front seat, which actually wasn't that far away. "Why are you being such a jerk?"

"Why are you? I don't see how it's any of your business how I am. You're not anybody to me. We're not friends. You're just… the Centre lackey who liked to fancy herself my 'carer', once upon a time. You're no better than him on the backseat. No, you know what, you're worse. You're much worse."

"Get out of my car! You get the hell out this instant, or so help me God, I will throw you out!"

He laughed. "Yeah, sure. Sure you will. Look at you, sitting there with your sad, indignant face, pretending you're so hard done by – and I'm just such a monster for saying these awful, hurtful things! Yeah, me, a monster. Because… because I… I filled you full of drugs and played games with your mind and I kept you locked away from the rest of the world and God forbid if either of us should feel any real human feeling, or question the company! Oh, sure. Sure, Persephone." He laughed again, sort of faintly, as though woozy or disoriented. "I don't know why I'm calling you that. It's not even your name. Not really. It's just make-believe. A fabrication. Like all of you!"

She lurched across her seat and slapped him over the face furiously. His stupid face hurt her hand, and her heart was beating too hard, and too fast, but she didn't move back, away from him. She went right on glaring death at him, silently daring him to say something, just one more word, so she could really throw him out on his ass in the mud.

He laughed.

Stupid boy, she thought. He wasn't laughing because he found her funny. He was laughing because she had threatened him, had hurt him. He was his idiot, dead friend all over again, and she wanted to hit him again – so, so much – but she stopped herself, just stopped herself.

His reaction was normal. He was angry because he had good reason to be angry. For the past and all that had happened, or not happened, between them. No, she hadn't done enough. Not nearly enough, given that she'd spent more than half her life believing she loved him, that she would have gladly thrown herself to the wolves and the hungry savages if he'd only said so, if he'd only said the words.

He had every reason to be angry, but what was her excuse? Who should have stopped her, could have stopped her, from doing the awful, inhumane things she'd done, but herself? William? Lyle? The Chairman? The Triumvirate? The Government? Herself? Heck, whilst she was at it, she'd might as well blame Jarod – or Sydney! Jarod, at least he'd made a run for it, had put it to the company that what they'd done was wrong – just _wrong_. But Sydney, Sydney was supposed to be one of the good guys, but he'd gone along with them just the same as she had. He hadn't stood by his brother when he'd been helping Catherine disobey. Because, no, that had all ended rather badly, and if Sydney had been helping out, surely it all would have gone according to picture-perfect plan, because that was just Sydney. Everything he did fell so neatly into place and was just perfect – like Jarod. The perfect antagonistic, screwed-up dissenter. But perfect. So perfect.

Or should it have been Angelo himself who stopped her, who cared enough to see through her ugly façade and help her help herself, because she really _did_ care for him deep down, because she really _did_ love him deep down, and he knew it, because he just knew things like that, and he was an Empath, so stuff like that meant something to him?

No, in the end, the world was messed up, but so was she, and she had to take some of the responsibility for her actions, also. She had to live with them, and either do something about the, or learn to accept them, learn to accept that she wasn't the great, shining example of humanity she'd always wished to be. Wishing wasn't doing, it was just wishing, and wishing without the motivation to make that wish come true was just wishful thinking, and more or less useless.

The reason she was so angry was because she knew Angelo had every reason to be angry, and to be angry at her, but she didn't want it to be that way. She didn't want him to hate her, or to be angry at her, to call her out like he had. She just wanted him to like her, for the two of them to be, if not friends, then at least amicable, civil. She guessed it was her own fault he'd reacted as he had, though. She'd used her words disingenuously and had brought up some bad crap from the past, brought it all back to the surface, and nobody really liked that. Not even her.

She could spend the rest of the day, the rest of the week, or the rest of her whole life pissed off at him over it, or she could do something about it, about her anger and her attitude, and stop being so pissed off. She could try for something she did want, not something she didn't.

She could have snapped back, "And I suppose being a Tam pawn is just so morally rewarding, too, isn't it?", but she didn't. She refrained.

She didn't want to be angry at Angelo; she didn't want to be angry at all today.

She took a deep breathe to calm herself as tears tickled at the back of her eyes in silent caution. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have hit you. It was wrong. A lot of things I've done were wrong. I didn't treat you right, and that was wrong, but I want things to be different with us now. I really do. I don't want to… I don't want to keep messing things up, honey!"

She stared at him, trying not to bawl and wishing he'd just say something.

He grabbed the car door and pushed it open, got out in the pouring rain and closed the door after him.

For a long moment, she just sat there, ready to cry, a couple of tears running down her face and staining her lips, sad and salty. She didn't want to go out into the rain, it was cold out there. Cold and wet and sad. But she didn't want to stay in here, not even with William sleeping on the backseat. She was miserable, and the warmth of the heater just aggravated her, felt too good for her. She just wished Angelo could accept her apology, that they could stop being enemies, even if they never became friends.

Making up her mind, she brushed her tears away and climbed out of the car, walking off after Angelo, her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect her from the cold and the wind.

It was just stupid. Stupid that they were angry at each other. Stupid and petty and childish, and they weren't children anymore.

She walked right up to him, nearly skidding on the wet ground and losing her feet out from under her a couple of times in the process, and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around to face her. He glared at her with his unusually bright blue Reaper eyes and his silly, sharp teeth, but she didn't care. Reapers were people too, but he wasn't just any person. He was Angelo, and she still loved him, even if it had been an idiot thing to do, right from the start. She didn't care if she _was_ an idiot because being a stupid dummy didn't bring meaning to her life, and it certainly didn't make her happy. But she knew who did, and he was standing right in front of her, glaring at her angrily, and even though he'd done a stupid thing that might have killed him, even though he'd been a selfish dummy, he'd hadn't done it to be selfish at all, and he hadn't died and when she'd said she hadn't missed him, she'd lied, because she so had, so she kissed him.

* * *

Margaret sighed, sitting down on the bed beside Jarod. He was staring at the television blankly, so Margaret placed a hand over his to get his attention. He went on staring at the TV, though she was sure he'd noticed her there. "Sweetie, I don't like that you're upset with your dad."

"I'm not upset anymore," he replied stiffly. "I'm over that."

"Are you really, baby?"

"If he wants to believe that some sinister alien invader is trying to wipe out the Earth, I'd say that was his choice, wouldn't you? Maybe aliens are real, maybe I am this Bug, maybe I'm not really your son at all. Maybe Jarod's dead." He shrugged. "I'm over it. I don't want to destroy the Earth, I'm not some crazy Apocalypse Child, so Dad can just suck it up, the same as I have all these years."

Margaret frowned, turning his face to catch his gaze. "Sweetheart, your father loves you. You must know that. He loves you so much."

Jarod looked away from her, uncomfortable. "Whatever," he mumbled.

"And, baby, you can't be the Apocalypse Child. Only the Apocalypse Child can be the Apocalypse Child."

Jarod made a face and cut his gaze to hers, shaking his head. Nope, he wasn't reassured, just confused.

"Noah was the Apocalypse Child, sweetie. That was Noah's name. Because he was a powerful Empath. A very powerful Empath, and potentially very dangerous and they let him live. They took him under wing and decided to see what he could do. It was, frankly, a little too much like tempting fate. What happened, it was always going to happen. Something awful was always going to happen, because nobody had ever allowed a child like that to live before. There was a sad lack of experience, baby. That's why everything went wrong the way it did, for those poor people and for Noah."

Jarod sniffed. "Stop talking about Noah, Mom. Just stop."

"He can't hurt anyone anymore. He's dead."

Jarod laughed, but it wasn't a relieved laugh. It was an angry laugh. "He never wanted to hurt anyone!" he snapped. "He was just a kid!"

"I know that," she told him, with a sad sigh.

"Then stop talking about it. It's the past. It's over."

"Your dad-"

"I heard you the first time!" Jarod snapped, glaring at Margaret now.

She frowned. "What's really bothering you, Jarod?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe that. It's Miss Parker, isn't it? You're worrying about Miss Parker, and your baby?"

Jarod growled. "Just drop it, Mom! You might think you want to go there, but you don't!"

"Nothing bad will happen to the baby, Jarod. I understand that Noah was dangerous, but Miss Parker isn't her brother, and neither is this baby. There's nothing saying your baby will be as Noah was. Miss Parker isn't an Empath, and neither are you. I don't think the baby will be either, but he or she has my prayers, all the same."

Jarod glared at her, but he was really glaring at his dad. "He told me I had to kill them!"

"Well… that's just… overkill…" Margaret replied. Obviously, Charles hadn't filled her in on the whole plan, just the bits he'd thought pertinent to winning her support for the cause.

She shook her head. "It's not going to happen, baby. Your uncle won't allow it. He'll look after them, Miss Parker and the baby. They're his family too."

"Oh, Raines will look after them?! Like he looked after Bobby, you mean? And Annie? Like that?!" Jarod laughed. "What a fucking copout, Mom!"

Margaret sighed. "Maybe it is a fucking copout," she snapped, "but let's face it – we all knew Bobby was expendable! It was only a matter of time. He couldn't be trained, and he certainly couldn't be bought. He was already dead, ruined. Whether he realised it or not, he wasn't living, he was just waiting for the axe to fall."

"You didn't even know Bobby!"

"No, I didn't, but I knew Lyle. And baby, he was no different. He was the same person he'd always been. He was just better at denying it. To everyone, even to himself. I'm sorry, baby, but that is the honest-to-God truth. Nobody could help Bobby, not even Bobby. If he'd wanted to help himself, he'd have taken a leaf out of Oliver's book and backed off. He would have settled for what he could have, not go chasing after all the things he'd been robbed of, actually or not. He was living in the past. If you choose to live in the past you throw away your future, sweetie."

She sighed. "Look at your brother, Kyle. It killed him, in the end. I don't want that to happen to you. To either of you, Miss Parker included."

Jarod said nothing, glaring silently. This time, he _was_ glaring at her.

"You need to go to her, Jarod. Go to her, and convince her to leave the Centre behind, leave it all behind, all of it, before it's too late. If the two of you aren't careful, you could quite easily ruin that baby. Without even meaning to, sweetie. Just by being who you are, who you've always been. But don't you see – you're not those people anymore! Your future belongs to you, and nobody else!"

"That's a lie, Mom. A lie to make people compliant and complacent, to make them think they have free will."

"There is no free will, only the will to be free. It's you, your mindset that counts, Jarod. Your actions! Even if we understood all there was to know about life and the universe, the fact would remain that life is life, and life follows a certain path. It's always the same path. If you want to be free, you have to be willing to let go of who you are and go out and find who you want to be! I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's the only way. For Miss Parker and yourself, and your baby, there is no other way.

"Let go of all this; of the Centre and us, of the whole bloody mess, and find a new life. Help Miss Parker make a good life for the two of you and your baby. It's what Charles and I should have done. I know that now. But back then, I wasn't ready to let go. I still thought I could beat the system, that together Charles and I could somehow get you back, could get both of our boys back. In the end, we didn't just ruin our own lives, we ruined Emily's too.

"You need to let go. Before it's too late." She shook her head, her gaze intent on his. "I won't tell Charles. I won't tell any of them. If that's what you want to do, I won't say anything. I'll support you as much as I can, for as long as I can."

Jarod shook his head. "No. I'm not backing down, Mom. What they did was wrong and they deserve to pay for that."

She sighed. "Yes, Jarod, I understand that, but your baby doesn't! And don't you think you've paid enough; that Miss Parker has paid enough?"

Jarod shook his head again. "I can't."

"Think it over," Margaret told him wearily, and stood up. "We'll be having lunch soon," she said, from the door, and then she was gone.

Jarod lay down on the bed and cried. He couldn't. He just couldn't. No matter how much he might have wanted to do everything his mom had said, he couldn't. It wasn't right. It was, but yet it wasn't. It was selfish, and he wasn't that person. He wasn't callous and he wasn't selfish, and he _did_ care.

Someone touched his hair and he turned over and sat up. Emily smiled at him sadly. "I heard you talking with Mom," she said, brushing away his tears softly. "She's right, Jar. You might think you can't do it, that that choice isn't yours to make, that it was made for you years ago, by a bunch of other people who didn't care about anyone but themselves, but, ultimately, the choice is yours. Yours and Mel's. It's going to hurt. It can only ever hurt, but you don't have to let them go on hurting you, over and over. Or hurting the people you love.

"You're not a selfish person, Jarod. You care so much. But you've got to care about yourself, too. _You_ know how much you care, and sometimes that's all you can ask for, in this world. Sometimes you can't ask for any more, but to know who you are in truth. And just because you've been hurt before and you lived to tell of it doesn't make it right, doesn't mean you can go on hurting yourself because it hurts you more to see other people get hurt. You're not hurting those other people by living. That's the Centre talking, darling. It's not the truth. Nobody is born into this world, with all of its troubles, in full possession of everything they might ever need. You have to go after the things you need, you have to work for them, not just for the things you want. But you have to learn to prioritise because you can only do so much, and some things, frankly, you don't even need them. Having a supporting network of people around you can certainly help, but you mustn't allow them to sidetrack you. If you need to do everything within your power to end world hunger for the sake of your sanity and your survival, then you're going to have to give up some things too. You might not be able to have a double-storey house in the 'burbs and a membership at the country club, but that doesn't mean you can't have a roof over your head, or a community of friends and associates. You might have to let go of some of those friends over the years, but you don't have to part on sad terms, and you know you'll be able to meet other people, make more friends, in time."

She smiled at him. "I knew what I was giving up when I chose to love Lyle. I had so many dreams, growing up. So many, many dreams. As I'm sure we all do. But they were still only dreams. I'd dreamed of them so often, I came to think I knew them, but I didn't. I hadn't yet lived them, and I really didn't know if they were truly for me or not. And in the end, though I know it wasn't and isn't right, that it shouldn't have to happen, I gave up a lot of those dreams.

"I made that choice. To learn to live in this world and still hold onto something, or suffer through it, teeth gritted, and sacrifice everything, time and again, my own mind included. They were dreams, ideas, they weren't yet concrete. They were a part of me, but they weren't, and there were things I already had I knew I couldn't live without. Those dreams weren't going anywhere. If I put them away for a while, until I had the time of day and the willingness to look through them again, they'd still be there. But if I wasted time pining for the things I didn't have, and probably never would, I could lose the good things I did have. The things that really meant something to me. Were a part of me, you know?"

"If you set aside something, you never really have the time of day to pick it up again," Jarod told her.

Emily nodded. "You have to ask yourself, can you handle that? Can you live with the possibility that'll you'll never have occasion to pursue those old dreams? Just because you let go of them doesn't make you a bad person, or someone else. You're always going to be unique, and just you. How could you ever be anyone else, realistically? Inside, you'll still know who you are, if you really take the time to find out. The world might not know what a good person you are, but who are you really living for? Why do you want to be a good person, if you can't be happy sometimes? If you're miserable your whole life through? You can choose to respect others, Jarod, but you can't make them respect others themselves, or themselves. You can, however, respect yourself. We're not born perfect. Or perfectly good. It takes time to learn these things, to learn how all of this comes into play in the world around us, and to learn how to best exert ourselves respectfully, whilst respecting others as well as ourselves. I'm not suggesting you stop helping people, but you cannot help them all, and you're not hurting anyone by allowing yourself some happiness in life. You're only hurting yourself if you turn away from the warmth when you're shivering with cold.

"For example, on that theme, imagine you're really cold. You rub your hands together, or zip your jacket up a little more, but it doesn't help. I don't know about you, but I find it hard to think about much else but the fact that I'm freezing my butt off, when I'm that cold. I don't really think about the parking fine I might have forgotten to pay on time, or the washing I still have to fold and put away so everyone will have clean clothes they won't have to hunt around for hours for. But if I had a moment to warm up and gather my thoughts, I'd realise I could put on some warmer clothes and go out to pay that bill, or put the heater on, so no-one else has to sit around shivering when they've come in from the cold.

"Of course, I can't think of everything, and sometimes someone else does. I'm not angry at myself for not thinking of it, I'm just happy that they did. You see, we're a team. What I mean is, I couldn't live my life being that cold all the time. It wouldn't be helping me, and it wouldn't help anyone else, either. If you allowed Miss Parker to raise this baby all by herself, to struggle through trying to protect a child she's long since been told she has no right to protect, and still somehow find the strength to live with herself – would you feel you'd made the right choice, for the person you are inside, or would it feel wrong? It's not right, of course it's not right, but do you think you could allow this trespass on your being as you have many others, for the sake of your honour, for the sake of staying true to someone the rest of the world thinks you are?

"Maybe that is selfishness, in one way, but I couldn't do it. Lyle didn't make me respect myself, or the rest of the world, any less. Maybe I had to give up my dream of saving the Amazon rainforest, but I still prefer to buy ethical, sustainable products that not only have less of a devastating impact on the environment, but that also benefit the workers and contribute to curbing the rising tide of poverty and inequality in the world. I prefer meaningfulness over excess. I don't think Lyle even tried to argue that one with me. Either he just didn't care, or he knew what was good for him." She smiled. "Oh, right." She mock coughed. "Or there's an incy, wincy chance he was a secret Friend of the Trees. Just, you know, secretly. 'Cause you can have a really serious chat with them when you're tripping and they never give you grief."

Jarod nodded, tilting his head a bit. Ah, yes, that did make a lot of sense, truthfully. Because it was hard to find like minds when you were a serial killer, and possibly tripping on anti-psychotics and other assorted drugs, prescription or otherwise. And of course, it was absurd to even consider that the trees were living too, and therefore deserved to live, also. Absurd for a serial killer, anyway.

Emily laughed, and placed a hand on the side of his face affectionately.

Jarod managed not to wince, but he really hoped Charles didn't walk in right at that moment. He'd think Emily was trying to control his mind or something.

"Just do what's right for you, Jarod. Not what's right _by_ you, or something you think is the right thing to do, but what you _feel_ is right. You can't always do the things you feel inside are the right things to do, but we're talking about a baby here. Your baby. Just because you never know her, and never see her, doesn't make her any less your baby. Special circumstances call for special considerations. Say you'll seriously consider your options, maybe even run a few of them by a tree or two?"

Jarod ignored her attempt at humour. "Why do you say 'her'?"

Emily smiled. "Because I'm a her, and isn't that what you do?" She patted his nose with a finger. "Lunch time. See you."

Jarod knew she was working her own agenda, was hoping he'd choose Parker and the baby over The Spirit of Justice, but he couldn't help considering just that. Yes, a baby deserved better, but the baby already belonged to the Centre. He could have fought, if he wanted to, of course, he'd never been put off fighting for what was right in the past, just because someone in charge thought they got to write the law book, too, but this was different, this was the rest of his life. He wanted to know his baby, to be a dad to her (or him), but would he be able to give up the family he'd worked so hard to reunite, to give up fighting the Centre and redeeming his past transgressions by sticking it to the company who'd forced him to be part to some really nasty, really evil things. And though he _could_ do it, he knew he could at least try, would it ultimately make him, or ruin him? Would it only stave off his baby's pain for a few years, and did that make it worth it, or right, if it turned out she eventually ended up in the Centre's clutches once again?

And what did Jarod want? What did he need? What was right _for_ him? Did he even know, could he even find adequate reason for his choice, if he couldn't rely on the theme of humanity and a common morality? Did he even need reasons, if he needed it? If being there for his baby wouldn't hurt either of them, and would only deprive those who wished to exploit and use her for their own gain (and perhaps a few genuinely needy individuals along the way, as was only to be expected), and would be good for his baby and her mom, could he say 'no' to that?

He looked at his hands and scowled. Even though he didn't know this baby, whether it was a he or a she, he knew he needed to be a good dad, or as good a dad as he could possibly be, to this baby. _That_ was something he needed to go on living. He needed those happy moments, but more than that, he needed his child to have those happy moments. It was just something he needed, and if it meant he never got the chance to personally take down the Centre, then maybe that was just the sacrifice he had to make for something he truly needed.

Just because Emily had thought she had a real shot and had run with it, didn't mean it was right for him. But then, just because Emily had failed didn't mean he would. And just because his parents had never had the chance to be there for Kyle and he, and Kyle had never had any kids, didn't mean he should go for it. But… but it certainly gave him occasion to think about things.

He held onto his phone, turning it over in his hands, and wondered if he should call Parker later. Would she, like Lyle, leave her tiny, innocent, defenceless child to the care of monsters when the chips were down? No, they all said he wasn't her real twin, but Parker had been through a lot, just as Lyle had, and she'd found that the only person she could truly rely on was herself. He wanted to say she wouldn't split, but heck, even Catherine had left her daughter behind for the sake of saving herself and her unborn baby. She'd done the right thing, of course, by fleeing with Ethan and allowing him to be born, but then she'd been shot and he'd been taken from her and exploited. If she'd foreseen how things would turn out, had she still chosen to support Ethan and abandon Miss Parker, or had she simply been physically unable to make the choice that needed to be made even though she knew there was no hope for her?

Jarod put his phone away, sighing. There really was no way of analysing this. He just had to make a choice and see what happened, and if he was willing to stick with it. The right thing, right now, he decided, was to talk with Parker. If she wasn't going to have a bar of it, then he'd have to think of something else.

He finally thought he'd come to a decision when it occurred to him that he might never be able to speak with Sydney again, if he left with Parker and the baby, and he suddenly felt icy cold. Sydney was… was… a part of his heart. He didn't know if he could live without Sydney in his life.

Blinking quickly, so he wouldn't have the urge to cry, he reminded himself that Sydney would tell him to do what was best for the baby, but that just made him want to cry all the more. Sydney was special, was important to him. Obviously, they weren't related by blood, but he'd often considered Sydney his best friend, even if he was Sydney's best friend, even if Sydney didn't even much care for him. Sydney was just… Sydney. His Sydney.

He scowled, on his way out the door. In actual fact, Emily hadn't really helped. She wanted him to choose Parker and the baby, but she didn't get that he was only alive today, here on Earth today, because of Sydney, because Sydney had given him the strength to carry on, even when he hadn't really wanted to, or felt he needed to. If he was asked to choose the one person he loved most in this world, just the one person, it would be Sydney. Without question. He didn't even need to justify it, it was just always going to be Sydney. He didn't feel manipulated into answering as such, he just knew Sydney was the only one who was _that_ important to him. He wouldn't go so far as to say that he'd die for Sydney, if the need ever arose, but he figured he probably would.

Obviously, he was human. He was whipped enough, he thought, with a small smile. By which reasoning, Lyle really must have been some kind of alien, because he hadn't seemed to care about anyone more than he did himself. Though, truthfully, it wasn't really all that alien. If aliens did exist, they probably weren't that different to humans, anyhow. Some of them may even have been human. It was trauma that messed with people's heads, he supposed. Physical, mental, emotional, chemical or other.

Yeah, Jarod had been through all that too, as had Kyle, but he wasn't that selfish. At least, he didn't think he was. He loved Sydney, didn't he?

He suppressed a sigh, only slightly offended for Emily. If she hadn't been enough to change Lyle's crazy ways, well maybe his mom had been right. Incurable.

That wasn't him, and it wasn't Parker. His conviction was such that he could almost taste it, but then he realised he was seriously hyping himself up, just because he really wanted to stick it to Lyle, who'd screwed up his one chance of something good because even though Emily had loved him to the ends of the Earth as well as being his Convergence partner, she obviously hadn't been enough. Or perhaps it was Lyle who hadn't been enough, he thought, and scowled again.

Whatever. He _was_ enough. If he somehow managed to land himself a nice lady, he wouldn't throw his chances away for anything. He wasn't a romantic or anything, but he wasn't stilted, or stupid. You didn't get a whole lot of chances at love in this world, so if you found something good and willing, you didn't let go for just anything, especially not for some vague dream of heaven, or whatever Lyle had been looking for.

The last he'd checked, you didn't get into heaven by murdering innocent women.

Thankfully, he hadn't murdered any innocent women, by design or by accident. Not with his bare hands, not that he knew of.

In the kitchen, Emily was looking dejected, and Jarod kind of wanted to find out how to get to wherever Lyle had gone off to, so he could kick his butt. Emily was his baby sister – it was so justified!

He offered Margaret a smile when she passed him his plate, and refrained from smacking his head on the table. He could probably leave Emily, if he had to, but to never see her again, to never see his little sister again? He didn't know about that. It seemed excessive. He liked his little sister.

He reached over the table and patted Emily's nose. "Cheer up, pumpkin!" he said, and smiled.

* * *

"Do you think I'd be a good parent?" Jarod asked Emily, as he was washing dishes and she was drying them.

"Good parents aren't necessarily good for their children."

Jarod made a face, and she smiled.

"Okay, probably. You can't really know for sure how you're going to handle it, until you're a parent, but I know you always try to do your best by people. That's a good quality for a parent to have, I think. Do you think I'd be a good parent?"

"You already are."

"If circumstances had been different? If we hadn't… had all this crazy trouble with the Centre and Tam?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Aww. Thank you. Husband hasn't even been dead a year, and Dad already thinks I should… 'look around'. The children deserve a real father, and I'd probably benefit from the experience, too." She shrugged, smiling. "I dunno. Dating's not really something I've tried before."

"What? Ever?"

"I just never took an interest in anyone else, I guess."

Jarod shook his head slowly, trying to wrap his head around that. "Ever?"

She shook her head. "Angelo seems nice though."

"You met Angelo?"

She nodded. "At Tam. In the mess hall, or whatever. He sends his regards."

"What were you doing there?"

"Enquiring about cloning, of course." She laughed. "I'm kidding. I thought I'd drop by, say 'hello'. Catch up with the old company, you know."

"It's not funny," Jarod told her seriously.

"I know. I actually had a good reason. But, um, I can't tell you 'cause then I'd have to kill you."

Jarod stared at her as though she'd lost it, and passed her a plate to dry. "I know a Healer or two," he returned, and she cracked up.

"Oh my God!"

Jarod couldn't help a little smile, that became a big smile. "Dangerous good, or what?"

"Not dangerous for my, anyway. Lyle gave me something I thought they could probably put to good use."

"The serum he'd been working on?"

"That was my guess."

"You gave it to them?"

"Some of it."

"What did they say?"

"They'll investigate."

"What happened to the rest?"

Emily laughed faintly. "I didn't give it to the Centre, or anything."

Jarod nodded. "Good, good."

"I was thinking about having a chat with the Triumvirate, though."

"Thinking?"

"Thinking."

"Could I…?"

"Well, I still don't know what it is."

Jarod laughed. "But you just gave it to…!"

"Yeah. Exactly," she replied. "They have… people. Healers. They're not exactly helpless, and I doubt it's anything bad."

"But it might be. This is Lyle we're talking about, Em. It could be… You…? You opened it! Oh God!"

"It's not the Sickness, Jarod. Lyle might have been pretty fucked-up, but not like that. He was still a Reaper." She started to dry the plate he passed her, sort of staring at nothing. "He didn't like the Sickness. And I despise it!"

"What are you gonna do, then?"

"How do you mean?"

"The whole meeting someone thing."

She passed him the dishcloth and took over the washing up. "I don't want anyone else."

"But they might be good for you."

"I don't care. I don't want someone else." Quietly, she said, "I'm gonna wait a while longer."

"What if you're cold, but you just don't know it?"

"Maybe I am," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. She shook her head. "I don't want to hurt anyone, I just… I don't want anyone else!"

"Why are you so attached to him, Emily?" Jarod asked, and for once, she didn't laugh.

"Because I love him."

* * *

"Does that even make sense to you?" Jarod asked, and Parker nodded, switching through channels on the TV.

"Of course it does. She loves him."

"He's dead."

"Yeah, well… she's… one of those women."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I bet she believed in fairy princesses when she was a little girl, too."

Jarod snorted. "Sure, Parker."

She sighed. "It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?"

"What?"

"To be loved like that."

"I suppose."

"Do you think Thomas-?"

"Of course he did, Parker. Of course he did."

"Would it be wrong of me to say… I… I don't think I loved him… as if he was going to be my first and last…?"

"Not wrong, no."

Parker nodded, brushing tears from her cheeks. "I did love him. A lot. But… I've let go of him. I hardly ever think of him…"

"Which is normal. Completely healthy."

"It's Emily. Lyle's Convergence partner."

Jarod sighed. "I think so," he replied.

"She seems like a nice person."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Lyle really liked her. I think he would have done it, too. If… you know…" She nodded.

"He would have done what?"

"Asked her to be his wife," Parker answered quietly.

"You sound kind of freaked out?" Jarod noted, probably thinking the same thing that Oliver did, that she'd secretly been in love with him.

She didn't bother reminding Jarod that he'd been her brother, her twin, for ten years. And, apparently, thought he'd been her dad in another life. "Nope. How is she, anyway? Emily?"

"Okay, mostly. Apart from… you know… a few strange hang ups. All the regular stuff. Mom says we should run away together. Emily agrees. I'm… thinking about it."

"Are you?" Parker asked, just casually. They were both suddenly very casual.

"Yeah. Really thinking about it."

"That sounds nice," Parker said.

"Really?"

She nodded. "Really. Will you… visit? It would be nice to… for you to see the baby. Before it's born."

Jarod laughed. "I bet you look pretty cute, too!"

She grinned. "Yep, pretty cute."

"Are you gonna call the Sweepers on me?"

"Nah. Maybe next time, ya know. If we don't… run away together."

Jarod laughed. "If we… if we don't… yeah. Is that… is that some strange form of coercion, Miss Parker?"

"Nah. You're letting your imagination run away with you now, Wonder Boy."

"What if I came by tonight?"

"Promises, promises." She was smiling, but her smile faded away at the long silence that followed. She figured Jarod either didn't trust her or he didn't trust himself and she'd just stuck her foot in it by saying the wrong thing. "I'd really like that," she added, feeling like an idiot.

"I'll bring flowers, then."

She laughed silently, scrunching her eyes closed. Oh God, she really needed to hang up now. Though hanging up on people was generally Jarod's thing, she had a feeling he was going to disappoint this time. "I'll be waiting in my cherry red," she said, before she lost the nerve, and hung up, her cheeks burning hot.

She dropped her phone on the coffee table and flopped back on the sofa, covering her face with her hands. She couldn't help half hoping he showed, though she knew it was stupidly dangerous and she'd probably faint anyway, she was just that sort of girl. Either she'd picked it up from Lyle, who'd been pretty shameless when it came to a whole host of stuff, but pretty silly when it came to his girl, or she'd got that one from Sydney. He'd always been a little weird when it came to romantic stuff and she bet he still was, despite what he said. She bet he took off down the hallway when Darcy batted her eyelashes at him. He probably hit behind the bedroom door, too, thinking Darcy wouldn't look for him there, until she found him and oh, she'd accidentally closed the door and there was no way out.

When she hid behind doors, Parker always kept a gun at hand. She was smart, not sweet.

She got up off the sofa and went to look in the lingerie drawer in her bedroom. She didn't actually know if she had anything in cherry red, but maybe Lyle had bought her something a couple of years ago. He had gotten her that cute babydoll she'd worn to one of the Cherryplum's slumber parties one year, hosted at Midori's apartment. Cherry had practically swooned and Broots had fainted clean on the floor when Debbie had called him to see if he could bring her fluffy slippers around and he'd arrived with hot chocolates from McDonald's. Luckily, Lyle had been with him and the hot chocolates had been saved from a sad, sorry fate on the carpet, but Allison had run to hide in one of the rooms and then come out with an odd expression on her face, telling Midori, "You have a scary big bathroom," and Midori had laughed and said, "Actually, it's a TARDIS."

Parker and Silvie had walked over to collect the cup trays before Lyle dropped them laughing at Midori's joke, and he winked when he finally noticed Parker and said, "Looking good, Sis." Cherice smacked him over the back of the head and he stared at her in alarm, turning to Parker. "Violent much? You think she's frustrated?"

"Definitely frustrated!" Parker agreed, with a grin, and pointed to the paper cups in the cardboard tray she was holding. "I hope these are spiked 'cause I _really_ need a drink."

"Sorry, Sis, they're non-alcoholic."

"Too bad."

"Yeah, I feel your pain. What's up with Ali?"

"She's crushing on you?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah!"

He smiled, and waved. "Have a lovely night, ladies! Step-mom, Sis." Then he grabbed Broots and dragged him out the door hurriedly. Parker shut the door with a smile and Ali had come out of hiding once more, to stare dreamy-eyed at the closed door in her fairy princess flannelette PJs.

Broots woke up in the elevator, disappointment in his face. "I missed the hot chicks, didn't I?"

Lyle nodded.

"Fulton was scary."

They sat in McDonald's later, eating French fries and pretended not to be staring at Courtland. So strange, seeing their boss out in public, and at a fast food restaurant no less. So strange. And weirdly suspicious.

* * *

Persephone woke with a start, bumping her head on the car window. Angelo had knocked her out with his Reaper mojo, she bet, and brought her back to the car. She rubbed her head with a hand, sitting up straighter and looking around the car. William was sleeping on the backseat still. She leaned over and touched his head. Happily, it felt fine.

She opened the car door and stuck her hand out. The rain was only a light drizzle, so she got out and shut the door, marching toward the house. She didn't think Angelo would still be about, but at least she could scream without worrying about disrupting William's sleep.

It was obvious to her that Angelo had twigged onto how she felt about him and for some reason it only made her angrier. Back when she'd been his carer, people had liked to whisper about her untoward behaviour toward Angelo and shoot her dirty, distrustful looks on the sly, when they thought she wasn't looking. Now that Angie himself knew, and had obviously felt it wasn't worth discussing for two minutes, she felt deflated.

Stomping into the kitchen and stopping in the middle of the room – the refrigerator was still smoking ominously – she looked around to make sure nothing was liable to fall on her and put her hands down by her sides, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

A singed calendar from 1976 fell off the wall.

She went on screaming, jumping up and down on the spot to really vent her anger.

She was leaving the house when Angelo appeared out of nowhere and she shrieked. He held out the origami love heart he'd made for her. She smacked a hand over her mouth and picked up the paper love heart, staring at it with wide, wide eyes.

She stared at him suddenly, moving closer to press a palm to his chest. "How badly does it hurt?" She felt his head. "You're freezing! No wonder your chest hurts." She grabbed his arms and hustled him into the house, shaking her head at him.

"I love you," he told her.

She nodded, wide-eyed. "Yes, exactly! That's what happens when you go frolicking in the rain in the middle of winter. What?" She stared at him suddenly, as if she'd only just noticed him standing there.

He picked up her hands and pulled her closer, humming "Cornflower Blue" whilst Persephone tried not to trip over her feet as they moved about the floor awkwardly and her face turned steadily redder.

Oh God! She felt weirdly faint. She'd thought for sure only teenagers thought this kind of stuff was charming; teenagers and weirdoes like Lyle. She felt like melting to the floor. She just remembered that Angelo and Lyle had been pals, and half wished William woke up and stomped over and grabbed her away, yelling all sorts of obscenities in Welsh or Icelandic about her devil-woman ways.

She'd lived for so long believing herself to be the only one who felt this way, it made her feel sort of sick in the stomach seeing Angelo make such a fool of himself. He was an Empath, of course he was. She'd had to go and kiss him, and now he thought he felt something for her, but it was nothing but fantasy, fabricated nonsense. She felt ill, and now she wanted to cry. She couldn't believe this was happening. Angie had been so good with her in the past, she couldn't believe the one time she threw caution to the wind he did this to her. Maybe he thought it could be fun, or he owed it to her for being so awful to her before, but she just felt disgusted.

She pulled her hands from his and lurched away, racing to the kitchen. She skidded on the stupid calendar but managed to end up at the sink, right where she wanted to be. Without further ado, she threw up.

When Angelo appeared behind her and rubbed her back, she turned and slapped his hand away, and went back to retching painfully.

Angelo sat down at the table, staring at the refrigerator blankly.

Persephone started to cry. It was a long time before she finished throwing up and washed her mouth out. With shaking hands, she filled an old, cracked (but still clean) glass with water and took a couple of sips, the water slowly seeping out through the cracks and spilling over her fingers.

When she turned away from the sink, Angelo was still staring at the fridge.

"I'm sorry, Angelo. I really am. But you can't just say that to me. You have no idea how you affect me, and what it does to me when you say such things. I know you've never felt-"

"I love you, Persephone," he told her slowly. "I feel love for you." He placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, then held it out to her, his expression a sad frown: "Angelo loves Persephone."

"No, darling. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I'm sorry. You don't love me, you only think you do."

"You asked if I was okay now, Persephone, and I said that I was. Why can't you believe me? What's stopping you from taking me seriously? I'd honestly like to know."

She stared at him, shaking her head, incapable of answering him.

"Would it be easier if I simply said I desired you? I want you. Is that easier?"

She pressed herself back against the kitchen sink, the glass slipping from her soggy hand and finally smashing on the floor. She put her hands up to cover her ears.

"You don't want me? Not any longer?"

She ripped her hands away from her ears and stared at him in horror. "Please! Please stop saying those things!"

He nodded, and stood up. "Okay," he said, with a sigh. "It was, ah… It was certainly interesting seeing you again. And thank you, you've really helped me to clear up a lot of difficult feelings. Much appreciated."

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

"I'll show myself out. You enjoy your evening now."

She made a strange whimpering sound, muffled only slightly by her hand, and he turned away, heading for the door, glass from the broken fluorescent tube crunching under his shoes.

She removed her hand from her mouth and reached out from him, tears bursting in her eyes. "Stay! Please stay."

He paused at the door, but didn't turn. "No. No, now you just feel sorry for me. I don't want your pity, Persephone. There are others who will want me for me. I won't bother wasting your time any longer. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you tonight."

She walked across the room and stopped behind him, longing to reach out and touch him. "I'm scared, Angie. I'm so scared. Please don't go. Don't leave me. I… I don't pity you. I've been so, so stupid, but I don't pity you. I'm sorry. I was just scared. I'm just scared. I don't want to lose you. I just wish you could forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," he told her quietly, and spun around to face her, to meet her eyes. "I forgave you the night you set me free."

She nodded through her tears, rollicking down her cheeks. She didn't mean to be this pathetic but she just couldn't help it. Her heart felt like it was being torn in two. She didn't know _what_ to feel, or if she could even trust her feelings anymore.

"You're a beautiful woman, Persephone. When I look at you, when you're near me, I want to spend more time with you. I don't want to leave. I start to feel I might want to hold you close," he touched her cheek ever so gently with the back of his hand, "I might want to kiss you."

She nodded tearfully, a small unidentifiable sound escaping her mouth, and reached for the front of his clothes to pull him nearer. He didn't need any more encouragement. She'd barely smoothed her fingers across his shirt when he took her face in his hands and dropped his mouth to her eagerly anticipating lips, kissing her hard.

She brought her hands up, to his back, and clutched at his clothes, pressing herself more snugly against him. His hands left her face and travelled down her neck, trailing over her chest and down her sides. He pulled her close, his hands on her bottom, and she was lifted off her feet, wrapping her legs about his waist. In a flurry of rough, roaming hands, heavy breathing and rustling clothes, they ended up at kitchen table once more and Persephone settled her bottom on the tabletop, gasping breathlessly as Angelo trailed kisses down her throat, to her breasts, clad only in a lacy lilac bra. His hands felt like fire against her skin, his fingertips brushing her ribcage gently, but she wanted more. She shrugged out of her matching lilac blouse as he kissed his way down to her navel and she unhooked her bra with shaky fingers and reached for him, pulling him back up to her and meshing her lips with his. Her fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, desperate for skin on skin contact, and her body burned, aching sweetly for him.

She discarded of his shirt on the floor without a second thought and moaned as his hand trailed across her thigh, grasping her to him hotly. She gasped as his arousal pressed against her and need coiled painfully, thrillingly in her core. "Oh God! Don't play with me, Angelo! I need you. Now!" She roughly tugged her panties down, a low, needful growl rumbling in her throat, and pulled him closer once more, branding his skin with hot kisses against his neck as he worked on his jeans. She couldn't stop kissing him all over, his face, his jaw, his ear, his mouth, his chest, her small, shaking hands trailing ice-like across his skin and over the taut planes of his back, across his strong muscles. She was lost in passionate exploration of his body when he took her by surprise, pulling her from the table and pressing her back against the kitchen cupboard and plunging into her in one smooth movement. She gasped, open-mouthed, and whimpered, craving the feel of his hands against her skin, his skin pressed to her skin. "Don't stop. Don't stop."

He thrust into her hard, again and again, and she clutched at his back with one hand, stroking his face with her other hand. "Yes, yes, oh please, yes." She hardly knew what she was saying, she only knew she didn't want him to stop. She urged him on with her gasped breaths, her hands tangled in his hair as he thrust into her in a hard and heavy rhythm, her thoughts drifting farther and farther away as pleasure and need wove itself through her every fibre, building in a slow blinding crescendo and left her unable to do anything but hang on for the ride, panting for breath. He came just moments after her orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over her, threatening to drown her, body and soul, dulling even the sound of her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

* * *

Angelo collected up her clothes and offered them to her. She proceeded to dress herself badly, still having trouble fitting her thoughts together and getting her hands to cooperate. He stilled her hands with his own and helped her on with her clothes. She smiled at him breathlessly but she wasn't seeing him properly, just the suggestion of him.

He pulled her jacket on and turned to pour her a glass of water at the sink, helping her to hold onto it, his hands covered over both of her own, as she took a few slow slips. If she'd been her normal self, he was sure she'd have shrugged him off with a dirty look, but she didn't seem to mind him helping her out right now.

They walked to the lounge and he helped straighten her hair with his hands, enjoying the feel of her bedraggled hair sliding through his fingers, speckled with flakes of old paint from the cupboard in the kitchen. She rested her head against his chest sleepily and they sat down on the sofa, silently. Soon, she had fallen asleep, her head rested in his lap. He let her sleep, pressing a kiss to his hand and smoothing the hair from her eyes. His fingernails had returned to normal, no longer dark and sharpened to claws, and he could see there was some mud stuck underneath his nails. He didn't mind. It made him feel normal. Thinking that he would have liked very much to cuddle up with her under a blanket, he just hoped he hadn't been too rough with her. He closed his eyes and lulled himself to sleep listening to Persephone's soft, even breaths, the slow, steady beating of her heart a comforting presence.

* * *

Miss Parker sat at the piano, a smile lighting up her face and her hair swishing across her face as she played a raucous number she knew by heart.

Seeing her like that, so carefree and full of joy, Jarod felt an overwhelming swell of affection for her. She was wearing a pomegranate babydoll and her feet were bare, her toenails painted an exuberant red. Caught up in her excitement, it was a moment before Jarod realised he knew the song she was playing. It was a tune he'd heard many a time in his dreams, accompanied by an aura of soothing and acceptance. He couldn't help but smile and that was when Parker began to sing the lyrics he'd never heard before, her voice and her enthusiasm for life and happiness stealing his heart.

He didn't realise he'd begun to laugh until Parker stopped playing and turned to him, brushing long hair from her face and over her shoulder to clear her vision, a frown playing across her familiar pale features, now accompanied by a unfamiliar healthy glow. "Jarod."

He couldn't take his eyes from hers, even as she left the seat she'd been sitting at and stood, walking barefoot across the floor to stand with him.

She picked up his hand, smiling. "Hello, Jar," she said. "Look at you! All… tall and manly. I'd forgotten you were so damned hunky."

He touched her arm. "Hello, Mel. As beautiful as ever."

She pulled him closer and planted his hand on her swollen belly. It was a shock to him but not an unhappy one. He was finally able to take his eyes from Parker's as she smiled and said, "Hello from baby"; finally able to take in the rest of her. She looked no less gorgeous for the belly. In fact, he felt a little bit like fainting when he recalled that it was his baby she was carrying. They were a family, finally, at long last.

"Hello, baby," he whispered, with watery eyes. "Mommy and Daddy love you so much."

Parker pushed a hand against his shoulder playfully, and he realised he was probably freaking her out a little, getting all sentimental on her.

When he finally returned his gaze to hers, she tilted her head for a brief moment. "And here you are! No flowers to speak of."

He took her hand and led her wordlessly from the living room, into the kitchen, which was filled with rose petals, a bunch of twelve red roses sitting in a pot of water on the kitchen table. "I couldn't find a vase."

"Clever thinking."

"Thanks."

Parker laughed, reaching for one of the roses and bringing it up to her face to smell, small droplets of water that had fallen from the stem dotting the kitchen table and floor at her feet. "Can I eat them? I'm kinda hungry all of a sudden."

"I have no idea." He didn't admit that often, but tonight it just felt right.

She turned on the spot and stood up straighter, handing the rose to Jarod. "This one is for you."

He took the rose, offering her a small, melancholy smile.

She smacked his arm with a hand, an amused smile blooming across her lips. "I haven't even turned you down yet, hobo!" she chided, teasingly.

He crossed his fingers, nodding. "There is that."

She widened her eyes. "Oh my God! I need food!"

Jarod couldn't help laughing.

Parker danced across the kitchen to the fridge, pulling open the door and grinning. She grabbed a bowl of fruit salad from the shelf and padded back to the table. "Want some?"

"Is that from Cherice?"

"It's heavenly," she moaned happily. "You have to try some."

He passed her a spoon from the drawer and shook his head. "I've already eaten, but by all means, enjoy your fruit salad."

She perched on a chair and tucked into the fruit salad. After a while, she nodded, and looked up to meet his eyes. He tried not to openly stare at her legs, but they were right there, and her cute little feet with their red toenails, a match for the rose petals strewn about the room. "What do you think? Would you like to run away with me, into the glorious sunset?"

"I'm game if you're game."

She laughed, and choked on a mouthful of fruit. "Say that again."

"I said, I'm game if you're game. I'll run away with you, Parker, if you'll run away with me. Into the glorious sunset."

She considered him for a moment. "Long drive, was it?"

"Long enough." He could feel she was getting ready to push him away again, as she'd done too many times before, and he didn't like it, but he kept his expression calm and assured. She thought she could bait him with references to his family and wherever he'd left them but he wasn't going to take the bait. Not tonight. Tonight, he was right where he wanted to be. He was with his family, right here.

He took a plain gold ring from his pocket and slipped it into his palm so she wouldn't see it before it was time to reveal it and went down on one knee.

Parker stared down at the floor, as if she thought he was just getting down to pick up something that he'd dropped, and looked up at him with a frown.

That was when he showed her the ring. "Will you marry me, Mel Parker?"

She stared at him as if he'd just sworn at her, and stood up in a hurry, setting the fruit salad down at the kitchen table before turning back to him. "Get up off the floor, you stupid man!"

He got to his feet, deflated. Was she going to shoot him now, or just wallop him over the head with a frying pan?

She stalked over to him and snatched the ring out of his hand, examining it for a second. "Is this your mother's?"

His mouth felt dry, all of a sudden, and he felt a shudder race along his spine. He had no idea how Parker had figured onto that one so quickly, but he wasn't about to lie to her. "That's right."

"Are she and your dad divorced now?"

"No. She gave it to me. She… she supports us, I told you."

Parker handed him back the ring. "How do you think your dad's going to react to all the men in town making passes at your mom? He'll flip his lid. You should give that back to your mom."

He slipped Margaret's ring back into his pocket.

Parker reached over and lifted his chin with a finger, meeting his eyes. "You don't have to win me over with flowers and fancy family trinkets, Jarod. We're already family, remember?" She placed a hand on her belly and reached for his hand with her other hand. "I'm game if you're game."


	3. Chapter 3 (Version 1)

**Notes: **Okay, I went to town with the creative license! *shrinks behind computer chair, the better to hide* My bad. Please be merciful … *cringes* …

* * *

Early morning light spilled into the apartment, the kitchen filled with the aroma of coffee. Sam frowned down at the letter he was reading for what seemed like the millionth time. When he'd first gotten it, it hadn't made a lot of sense, and he'd been too angry to even consider a lot of it – angry at Parker and her "brother", Lyle, both. He had been so sick of their crap, the on again off again, hot and cold rubbish, that he'd shut them out of his life completely, refused to think about them at all. What they'd done to him was unconscionable, un-stomach-able. It was only recently that he'd come to understand something important. He hadn't even spoken to Jane about it yet, and in truth, he felt a little shaky thinking about it.

Ever since he'd found out that Lyle had only been with him because of his artificial "twin" bond with Parker, because she'd rejected their Convergence and so somehow transferred it onto Lyle, he'd felt like something of a victim and an abuser all rolled into one, and the feeling hadn't ever sit right with him. Now, he felt a little more comfortable thinking about it. In truth, it hadn't been his choice when it had come to their Convergence, because of how far he'd gone with Parker, how far their bond had progressed, and then when she'd transferred, or deferred, it onto Lyle, it had been at that same stage. Initially, Sam had merely assumed that he hadn't really had Convergence with Parker after all, and though he knew that Convergence was supposed to be between a man and a woman, he'd felt for sure that was what it was, because he'd been fairly much in love with Lyle. The hard part had come in realizing that though Parker had rejected her Convergence due to the traumatic experiences she'd been through, Lyle had had no such excuse. He'd never confessed that it wasn't Convergence, had always maintained that he _did_ love Sam. That was what had really gotten to Sam the most – the constant lying!

Now, well… he had a fairly good idea that Lyle, though such words wouldn't mean anything to him, had been a panromantic demisexual. Therefore, he could well have loved Sam, it just wasn't in a sexual sense. That had been the Convergence asserting itself. Sam had been particularly angry over the fact that he'd still been in love with someone else (he'd always felt it, but had pushed the idea away as absurd), his first and true Convergence partner, as it turned out. Now, it very much made sense. As an Empath, things got even more complicated, considering the various levels of his true personality and shared personality or empathically-induced pseudo-alters.

Sam folded the letter and returned it to the envelope, feeling a sense of great relief. He'd always felt bad, leaving things the way he had; felt bad for having to stick up for himself so fiercely and having to assume those who'd hurt him were bad, evil people who'd done it with malicious intent. He'd sometimes thought he must be a bad person, for hating them so much even though he really didn't want to hate them… it was just that what they'd done had been wrong, so fucking wrong!

He stowed the envelope in his pants pocket and stood up, pouring coffee into a mug for himself and herbal tea into a cup for Jane.

A couple of days ago, he'd gotten an email from Persephone. At first, he'd been ready to delete it right off, but then he'd seen that it wasn't personal correspondence, it was something to do with a convention Persephone had been to, a requirement for an Empath specialist, he figured.

So he'd begrudgingly read Persephone's email, and something had just clicked into place in his mind. He wasn't a bad guy (at least, not in that sense), he wasn't massively fucked up for having cared for let alone loved someone who was bad (malicious, sick, fucked up in the head). Suddenly, it had all started to add up in his head. He didn't have to hate Parker anymore; he could go home and actually be civil with her, as opposed to merely acting civil. They could talk, perhaps they'd even be friends again one day, or something close to. He had the feeling that hearing about all this would help Parker heal, too, that she'd been feeling fairly crap for "forcing" her Convergence onto Lyle, whom she'd actually allowed herself, at one point, to be convinced was her brother. That had hurt her, he knew (even if she'd never said so). She'd probably tried to tell herself it wasn't such a big thing because Lyle had induced the bond between them anyhow – he'd been asking for it, damn it; he must have at least known that some funky shit could eventuate from it – and heck, wasn't he bisexual anyhow? What was the harm? He'd kissed Jimmy, hadn't he? Had assumedly been secretly in love with him?

Sam's sense was that Bobby might have been in love with Jimmy, for all they knew, in a romantic or affectionate aspect, but he didn't think it was a sexual thing. It had more than likely been something between the tradition sense of being in love with someone (sexually and romantically) and caring for or loving someone as a friend or family member or acquaintance. That would also explain, in many ways, his weirdness about Parker, which he had seemed to delight in playing up as a sexual thing. In fact, it wasn't like that at all.

If Sam was honest, Lyle's whole incestuous sexual attraction aspect had smacked of squick. When they'd been together, he'd always thought of it as a joke – a sick joke, but a joke nonetheless – but when they'd broken up and his thoughts had turned darker in relations to his ex-boyfriend, and his whole family, they'd all just really freaked him out. Not so much his dad, but that was only because he hadn't been a part of the Parker family long enough. He'd started to wonder if it was safe to have Lyle anywhere near Reagan; he'd even been freaked out about his friendship with Silvie. What if he was a child molester; what if he really _was_ with Silvana? What if he could influence Parker empathically and had… messed with her head somehow; what if they were a couple? And the whole thing with Green! It had all sickened him frankly.

Somehow, now, having come to the conclusion that he had, it seemed slightly better. He was just slightly comforted. He wasn't freaked out anymore, hating it but feeling suspicious nonetheless, thinking that maybe Bobby had had something with his dad, William; had thought it would be a neat avenue to manipulate someone so why the heck not? He was certain that if it had indeed been so, his dad wouldn't have said boo. Would probably have been too embarrassed, ashamed or freaked out to say anything. Empaths had these kinds of powers; smart people knew this and didn't discount any dirty tactic; only stupid people took their life and their morality and sanity into their hands like that.

He'd always meant to take Jane to meet his family one day. This way, he figured he could. He wouldn't even feel the urge to throttle Parker. Fulton… well, maybe. But he could resist, couldn't he? He wasn't that guy anymore; he felt much better about himself nowadays, a lot less crazy.

Jane appeared in the kitchen, smiling happily. She stopped to kiss him for a long moment and he wondered if today would be a good day to bring up meeting his family.

.

_Harmony stared at her as though she was mad, or she just wanted to slap her over the face, but Margaret wasn't going to be intimidated. "For Heaven sakes, Maggie!" Harmony cried. "Why would you tell him to do something like that?! I thought the whole point of Affiliating ourselves with that… that group was precisely so that we could stick together as a family – so we'd be safe from the likes of the Centre! And now you want Jarod and Mel to just up and leave! You expected me to be okay with this – with never seeing my daughter or my unborn grandchild again?! No! No! I am not okay!" She shook her head in disgust and took out her cell phone, stalking away to likely phone Sydney and yell at him about Margaret's disgusting behaviour too._

_At the door, Harmony paused and glared at her. "I sincerely hope you're not doing this just because you had to send Lyle away when he was born!"_

_At the mention of her grandson, Margaret suddenly wanted to cry, but she couldn't face telling Harmony the truth – that not only was she worried about the Centre and Tam, but that Charles was acting pretty loopy himself these days with all of his talk of aliens and invasions. She knew he must have gotten all of it from his insane long-lost relations, when they'd dropped by out of the blue to suggest an alliance, but she hadn't wanted to get all up in his face about it because she'd never known her own blood relations and had thought it a nice thing to do to allow Charlie contact with his family._

"_I'm thinking of the baby," she told Harmony stiffly, "and I don't know how iyou/i could assume otherwise. It's your grandchild, too."_

_Harmony slammed the door in her face and stomped off down the hall, fuming, and Margaret sunk down onto the mattress, trying to keep her tears at bay for as long as possible. She understood very well why they'd Affiliated themselves with Gift of the Sun, and it wasn't for posterity's sake, or for the free coffee, but she just couldn't trust that everything would be okay if they merely played the game. The Centre had taken Kyle from her when she'd still been employed with them, and then, when she'd quit, they'd taken Jarod too. It was a nice dream, believing that you could trust these people to keep their word, but it wasn't reality._

_She just wished Harmony would understand that._

_Right on cue, Emily appeared in the door with Aretha, frowning sadly. She liked to do that lately: stalking around like some sort of ghost and frowning sadly. She came over and sat down on the bed with Margaret, leaning her head on her shoulder, and whispered, "Don't be sad, Mom. I believe everything will turn out for the best."_

_Margaret didn't know about that, but it had been a long time since Emily had been this affectionate with her, so she didn't bother opening her mouth to argue._

.

Ethan blinked open his eyes and sat up, pressing a hand to his head. He'd thought he was done with these creepy dreams. Shivering in the dull morning light, he wondered if the dream was real or just something to think about, something to mull over. In the end, he decided that it was crap and got up to get dressed.

When he joined Zoe in the kitchen for breakfast later, she was packing Jojo's lunchbox whilst Jojo ate his breakfast, a bowl of cereal with a side of fruit salad and juice.

Ethan scruffed up Jojo's hair and walked around the table. He took two apples from the crisper in the fridge and passed one to Zoe, for Jojo's snack, and sat down at the table, tired again.

Jojo smiled at him and he smiled back, just.

.

"If you're to believe what Greta told me, then I have no reason to see Oliver," Nicholas explained to Sydney. "He's not my brother… or half-brother, and he's not Parker's twin." He shrugged a shoulder. "Greta's your mom. It's your choice, but I don't see what reason she has to lie. iI/i trust her. I don't like it. Hell, no. But-"

"I want to speak with her myself," Sydney cut him off, and Nicky frowned.

"What?" he asked, though he'd heard Sydney perfectly well. Talk… with Greta? Well, she was his mom, but she'd never contacted him herself, if she even icould/i… so maybe she just didn't want to.

"Let me speak with my mother. Tell her… Just tell her that I want… no, we ineed/i to talk. If you can do that for me, Nicholas. Please?"

"I… I dunno. I guess. I'll… try. I just hope you're not thinking of… doing something stupid. You can't save him, Dad, and there's really no reason. He's not your kid; he never was. Your kid was dead. He was just using him. It's really sick. You can't seriously tell me you care about some creature who, for all we know, could've saved your son and didn't bother to even lift a finger… because he wanted… a willing vessel, something to command without pesky interference?"

"I never said I cared," Sydney replied. "Not about it. I do, however, care about my… my son's body. He doesn't deserve this."

"He's dead," Nicholas interjected. "And, come on, Hell yes – he deserved this and more! If you ask me, he'd have gone dark side no matter what. No matter how much he was loved or doted upon. He was… too much, Dad. That kind of power, it should never be allowed. He should have been killed. It would've been a mercy. He could've returned to the Universe, started again." He didn't notice Sydney's stare right away, and by the time he did, he couldn't take his words back. Not that he felt he was wrong – where he was concerned, he was only right – but he'd forgotten this important thing called "sensitivity".

"Who _are_ you?"

Nicholas felt the sting of his dad's words but he just didn't care. Whatever, man! He wasn't the one who'd messed around with some crazy lady. If he'd cared so much, he'd have had some restraint. It was both right and wrong, to meet your Convergence partner, to have the children you were always destined to have, if you believed the Tam hype. Nicky wasn't sold, despite having lived amongst them for so long. Parker was fine, but that twin of hers was just… a sorry accident, the worst kind of serendipity. Nicky didn't particularly like the idea of baby killing, but this kid was something different, was just begging for trouble, on hands and knees.

And look at all the harm he'd caused.

Nicholas stood up, fed up with his dad's coldness towards him. He could feel it, like a thick blanket of snow covering the ground. Yeah, his dad definitely had some hand in the kid's messed-up abilities. He wasn't _just_ an ISP, no matter what he thought. He couldn't just blame the crazy woman. It was all fine and well for him to play ignorant but the rest of them had to live with the consequences, just as he'd had to live with them his whole life. He was merely glad he hadn't inherited more than his father's Inner Sense; none of that freakiness for him, thanks.

"He could've been honest, Dad. Just once! But no, no no. He couldn't even do that. He doesn't _care_; to him, we're all just… insignificant, tiny beings. You can't care about something like that. You might think everyone is capable of change, but you can't change what you are – and _he's_ not human! Does that make any sense to you? At all?"

He sighed. "Fine. If you really have your heart set on it, I'll meet this guy, Oliver whoever. Heck, if he's into it, we can be pals. If it'll help Parker heal. Yeah, sure, whatever. Just remember this, Dad: he's _dead_! We're not."

With that, he stalked away. God, sometimes his dad was really unmanageable. He didn't get that there was stuff you didn't do, _didn't_ nurture.

.

Sydney left the café, seeing no reason to stick around now that Nicky was gone. He couldn't help from scowling, but managed somewhat to rearrange him expression on the drive home. If Nicholas was serious, and his mom was too, she'd have come to him herself. He didn't know if Nicky was being used by someone, or if his mother hated him now, but he didn't care. He just wanted someone to be honest with him, for a change.

He really didn't know what to tell Parker, how to be someone good in her life now, or how to be a good father to her. He needed to know for sure before he told her anything.

He tried to remember his mother, what their relationship had really been like, but all he could recall was that he loved her, and she was his mom so that was okay. She'd loved Jacob, he remembered that, but he'd been closer to his grandmother (really his great grandmother, he supposed, given that she was also his mom's grandmother). To him, his mother had seemed somehow… sad, and he'd never been able to cheer her up. Jacob could always bring a smile to her face, but not him.

_Don't be awful_, he told himself. _She loved you both equally._

_Then why won't she talk to you?_ a little voice in the back of his mind asked.

_I don't know_, he thought, and that was when a small memory, really just a flicker of a memory, returned to him, as if to prove him wrong. She had been afraid of him sometimes. He'd seen it in her eyes. She loved him but he scared her. He was this unknown being to her… sometimes. There was a light in his eyes that she did not recognise, that neither she nor his father had put there, just as if he wasn't her child at all, but a star fallen from the sky, a foreign body come to resemble her own flesh and blood, a traveller from afar with a secret agenda of his own.

Jacob had sensed these feelings in their mother, he thought. It was why he'd tried so hard to be there for him, so he'd know he was loved, always loved.

He felt tears come to his eyes. Jacob had wanted him to stay, as if he could've done otherwise. Had so much wanted them to be brothers, family. The only truth he'd ever needed was the one they'd both been born into. They _were_ family. Here, now, they were in this together.

Waiting at a light, he rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment.

In truth, he couldn't lie to Parker. He'd have to tell her the truth. One minute, Nicky said he didn't necessarily believe in the Bug; the next, he said Lyle might've been Noah but not really, and anyway, Noah was dead, so dead, and Lyle didn't mean anything, didn't have any right to mean anything to anyone after what he'd done. There was some shit you just didn't forgive, because it was elementally wrong. He'd always got a funky vibe from that Lyle, anyhow, and he didn't want to tangle with that again. He was where he was meant to be; he had finally arrived at his intended destination. And now, _they_ healed.

And apparently, the odd lie or the perpetuation of an untruth was all part of the process of healing. If it's for the good, it's okay.

Sydney didn't know what to think. He just knew you loved who you loved, you cared for who you cared for, and Nicky thought he knew some stuff about some stuff and that was true, but there were a lot of things he didn't know the first thing about. And _he_ knew that Parker cared about Lyle and he'd cared about her.

If he told her Lyle had stolen her brother's body, would she hate him then? Would she stop caring about him, even if she found out that he wasn't dead? Or would she merely accept that their destinies were now irrevocably separate things and do her best to move forward?

Sydney pulled up in his driveway and just sat in the car for a long moment. _Please, Jacob, I need your guidance._

As usual, Jacob didn't reply.

He got out of the car and locked up. Walking to his front door, he found Harmony waiting for him, her expression something between a little melancholy and happy. He walked up to her and put his arms around her, just held her. He wasn't angry at her for showing her face in Blue Cove after all these years, when she was supposed to be dead. She held him back and the cooling breeze whispered quietly as it passed by on its way to wherever it was going.

.

Harmony was making sandwiches. They were going to visit Oliver; just Oliver. Sydney knew where he lived. She was smiling slightly, going about her task.

Sydney had been reading a book. He stood up. The radio was playing an upbeat pop song. He raised his voice a tad. "Do… do you remember how I was when… we were together?"

"I love how you were," Harmony said, sweet-smiled.

"Was I different…? To how I am now?"

"I think I frightened you a little. But…in a good way, I guess."

He frowned. "You were never afraid of me?"

She frowned back this time. "Why… why would I have been afraid of you, Sydney? You were very sweet, a little more reserved than I was accustomed to, but lovely." She giggled. "Not even a tiny bit scary," she said, just above a whisper. She settled down some, put away her _hello, baby_ eyes. "You listened. I was a person when you were around; I wasn't just… an expectation. I was real. Finally… just real. In some ways, it was a relief to finally be me. Even… even when… I would often feel guilty because I was a married woman and I was… I had to be… using you. Even then, you made me feel better. I could never have been afraid of you, Sydney. Truthfully, I was the one you should've been afraid of!" She laughed, shook her head at herself. "I'm sorry. Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing."

She shook her head, frowning. "It's definitely something, Sydney. If it had been nothing, you wouldn't have asked. I mightn't remember a whole lot, but I remember that much."

He sighed, shrugged. "I think… Nicholas told me something. Something… his Voices had told him." He took a chair out and sat down at the table. Harmony turned the radio off and came and sat beside him, softly concerned.

"Nicholas is your son."

He nodded.

Harmony touched his hand. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want."

He shook his head. "It… concerns us both. It's about… Theodore."

She sighed, as if she already knew what he was going to say. Some of the shine left her eyes and she seemed somehow less.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Nicholas said he's gone."

Harmony squeezed his hand, her fingers only slightly cool. Her eyes were watery; they glimmered shakily, as if to compensate for her steady hands. "I'm afraid he never knew how loved he was."

Sydney didn't know why he said it, but before he could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth: "He knew." A frown crossed his face and he said, "Theodore's gone, but his body… is still here. It's not dead."

For once, Harmony was calm. She didn't explode or even offer any theories of her own. She merely said, "I don't understand," and waited for him to say something that would make it clear for her.

"They say something called the Bug took possession of his body when he… died."

Harmony nodded. "I've heard the stories before, but I never believed them. I think… they helped those whose children were… different… like Theodore was, when they had… to save them. Kill them." She looked unwell, suddenly. "I can only think that it would have also acted as a deterrent against having more children who might turn out wrong. Melody and Ethan are fine. It's just a story, Sydney. The Tower was afraid of anyone who might prove more powerful, who might just stand a chance of… overthrowing them or stopping them. They probably spread the tale themselves. I don't believe it, and I steadfastly refuse to believe. If Theodore's body is alive, then so is Theodore." She winced. "I… I refuse to believe that it might be someone else's spirit, alien or otherwise. Please, tell me about him."

"He is not Theodore, Darcy."

She slumped. "Where is he?"

"He's with the Tower. They want to contact his… people. He's not our son, Harmony."

She frowned, caught off guard when he'd called her Harmony. "You're saying Lyle is Theodore?" she whispered.

Sydney nodded sadly. He wasn't surprised that she'd connected the dots.

"Why won't he tell them? Why won't he just tell them – he's not some _alien_? He's human."

"He isn't human, Harmony."

Her hand left his and she stood up, turned away from him. Sydney stayed exactly where he was, feeling awful but with nothing comforting to say. Unlike her, he did believe in the Bug. Not so much extraterrestrials or aliens, but…

Harmony wiped at her eyes with a hand and turned back to face him, looking determined.

"There's a possibility that Theodore isn't our son," Sydney said, and then he didn't know why and he had the slight urge to hide… somewhere… behind the refrigerator, perhaps? He was freaking himself out, and he was clearly freaking Harmony out.

"Sydney, really, now you are frightening me," she told him, her eyes suddenly wider in her face. "Raines did not steal my unborn baby and replace it with… Oh God! No! I was not impregnated with some wee alien spawn for some crazy Tower experiment! That is insulting! To both of our species." She sighed. "It just didn't happen. Let us never speak of this again. Oh good, I've suddenly forgotten – what were we talking about?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of someone else's child, rather than… an alien," Sydney replied, when he could get a word in.

Her eyes turned big and she planted a hand on her belly. "Jacob! Oh that is creepy!"

"Someone else else."

"What?" She brushed at her hair, her eyes their normal size again. "You mean… but still someone absolutely gorgeous! Of course! Only the best for the chairman's wife, right?"

"Darcy?"

She waved a hand at him. "A girl can dream. What? Yeesh. Here I am, doing my utmost to distract myself from all of the terrible, horrible creepiness and just so wrongness, and there you go," she affected a gruff voice, "with the logic, Spock. I gotta say, it kinda kills the mood."

"I was being serious."

She planted her hands on her hips. "So was I."

He sighed.

Finally, she said, "I hear you. I'm not sure I understand, but… yeah. Perhaps, due to my Inner Sense, my hormones weren't quite average, and that nicely suited their purposes, whereas, my child – shite – there's always some other poor woman down on her luck and just looking for a break. Yes, I see the charm of it all so clearly now. So they… they wanted this freakish little thing to live! Is that what you're saying? They wanted to… to what? To trick it? To make it think it was… somebody's twin. To tether it, as it were? Yes, yes, you do care, because, wee monster, we have your sibling and we can torture it and make its life hell just as easily as breathing. Your… sibling… buddy. Your other half. Now be good, roll over. Obey!" She stifled a yawn with her hand. "You think? I know they're invested, but doesn't it strike you as all a little… overkill? Especially seeing as they whisked the monster away to a far and distant land and banished it there forever. And it didn't even know it had a sibling, loved one, what have you," she added slowly, a mite lamely.

"He knew."

"Ah, the imaginary friend!" Suddenly, she smiled, putting away her saddened eyes. "I think the wee monster must have rubbed off on me some – I'm feeling a little homicidal right now. But, neh, it's nothing to worry about really. I'll just, um, I won't kill anyone in front of you so you can just say you knew nothing about it. 'Not a one, off'cer.'"

"Listen, Darcy…" Sydney sighed and stood up. "You're not the homicidal type."

"I'm not now, in any case," she replied. "Let me think about it, roll it around in my head a bit. The violation might abate a wee bit. Are they not genetically similar? You tell me, Sydney Green? I thought that much had been established. Or are we going to go with this whole alien hoopla? Ooo but the aliens! The aliens have this nifty biological failsafe, you see; they're able to perfectly replicate the DNA of their host body down to the molecular level and as the alien child was living inside my womb quite comfortably for a good few months that would make me the host… yeah, yeah… it all makes sense now! I'm a pod person mama! No, hold on, that's if the child really was my child and they implanted this alien enzyme what's-it into him later on. Otherwise, oh joy, I'm just a regular old alien mama. Whoopee me. The joy, the honor, the incredible honor. Are you sensing the disbelief yet, Sydney? Come on, not even just a little bit?" She laughed, and reached out a hand for him. "Please, stop me. I'm little bit loopy right now. Just bloody do something! Don't tell me now – crazy woman don't do a jolly thing for you! Oh, no, that's just other people's wives, that is!" She turned to flee the room, but he placed a hand on her shoulder and she froze. "Just let me go," she whispered. "I'm getting glitchy again. You have to let me go. I can't… I can't stop myself."

"Look at me, Darcy. Would you please turn around and look at me?"

"No. I will not please anything, let alone look at you."

"Why not? Just answer me that."

She growled, in the back of her throat. "You don't understand. You're still… I don't want to break you, and you're like this wee little innocent thing. You're so bloody precious and I know, I know you act like you've seen it all before and my god you're this big worldly person, you're such a man! But right now… I don't think you want to even go there. You don't remember, from back then, but I do, and I'm feelin' a mite bit itchy, you know? I have the urge to scratch. So take you hand off of my shoulder, Sydney, or else you're going to be very, very sorry, and so will we both."

He removed his hand from her shoulder and said, very calmly. "You don't scare me, Harmony. I'm not a child, and I may or may not be indecently shameless. Let's face it, you like to talk. And I happen to believe you're trying to scare me off, but I refuse to be sc-"

She whipped around, her eyes scarily intense on his. "Back away, Little Green!" she hissed. "Jacob isn't here to protect you any longer."

He closed his mouth to stifle his hiccup and remained right where he was, determined.

"And you wonder where the alien spawn gets it from? 'Back away from the crazy-eyed people who want to hurt you. Scream, goddamn it, scream!' 'Oh, no, I've got this. Watch. Trust me, you're gonna be proud of me. Ugh… Some day…'" She shook her head, with scowly eyes. "How can you even doubt that the idiot is our child? One of them had to be cracked."

She stalked to the door, pointing at him sharply. "Do not follow me!" With that, she disappeared from view.

Outside, she tried not to cry. If only she'd met Lyle, she might've been able to put an end to this pointless speculation. She directed her gaze down the street, and started walking, headed for her rental car.

As she was walking, she took out her cell phone and sent Sydney a text message. _Take the sandwiches to Oliver's. They're not going to grow wings and fly there by themselves._

.

Later, Harmony woke in her rental car, parked in a nice secluded spot in a recreation reserve. It was dark, at last. And horribly cold. She put the key in the engine and started it, got the heater started. Time to drop by Oliver's, she supposed.

The piece of paper in her pocket felt heavy, suddenly, and she felt ill, wondering if it was the right thing to do. She'd really come to Blue Cove, not for Sydney, but for herself. To give something to someone. Now, she had to wonder if giving Oliver the article to give to William was really the right thing to do. Did he really need to know – now?

Just as soon as the doubt had appeared to her, she stamped it down dead. Of course he needed to know. Of course.

He would be mad at her Theo for ruining all of the perfectly good chances he'd had of meeting the woman at various events over the years, or for when they were in the same place and just missed seeing each other, but that couldn't be helped now. The truth was important. If she was ever going to be free of Catherine's illness, she had to open herself up and allow the Universe to flow in, to cure her. She needed to give herself to the truth and if it judged her worthy, it would set her free.

A small part of her piped up, _Take your pills, Harm._

She merely answered with a terse "Later".

Her phone rang and she answered plainly. "Yeah? No, I'm okay."

It was Sydney. Oliver was at Parker's. If she was planning on seeing him, she'd have to head over that way.

"Got you," she replied, and put her phone away. She suddenly remembered what she'd heard, that William had remarried, forgotten about Edie. The thought made her a little sad. She'd liked Edna, mostly, even if the illness-addled part of her hadn't. She'd seemed nice, gentle. She could remember, now, being a little jealous. If only she'd been normal, like Edna; if only she hadn't had this damn anomaly, maybe she could've been gentle then too? Nice, even? A good wife and a good mother, a good person? If only…

.

"_I know it's you! Don't-! Don't-! Oh _shut up_, Oliver! I damn well know it's you, so don't even try to deny it!"_

"_How do you know?" Oliver demanded. "How do you know, Parker? You're just… You've got some crazy notion into your head via… I don't know, okay! Because… because that's just who you are, and now you're accusing me! I don't even know what you're talking about!"_

_A hard glint came into her eyes and she growled, "Convergence. You and Eddie! Don't you get smart with me, son."_

_He laughed sarcastically. "I'm not your son, Parker. I'm your brother."_

_She grabbed hold of his arms to shake him and would have done so had Jarod not then stepped in and pried her away from Oliver._

"_Enough now," he told her. "This is not the way to solve anything. A shouting match is just going to have the cops pulling up at your front door."_

_Oliver glared at Jarod. "Who the hell is this?" he shouted, completely ignoring what Jarod had just said._

_Parker refused to look at either of them; glaring, instead, at the sofa._

"_Parker?"_

_She went on ignoring Jarod, ignoring his gentle tone of voice. He didn't get how important this was. If Oliver didn't get it, then she couldn't leave. She just… couldn't. She couldn't leave Eddie in the lurch like that._

_She smacked Jarod's hand off her upper arm sharply. "No! I won't tell that whipped child killer!"_

_Both men frowned when they realized neither of them had spoken and she was apparently talking to no one._

"_He can't help. Stop kidding yourself." She gave a small, dark, somewhat disgusted laugh. A moment later, she remembered she wasn't alone. She fell silent._

"_Who are you talking to?" Oliver asked. "Is it him? I'm right, aren't I? He's the one who's been telling you this crazy shit! You told me – you said you couldn't hear his Voice! Jesus, Sis! You promised me you were done with that guy!"_

_She rolled her eyes, uncaring and slightly disgusted. "Don't talk to me, Oliver. Don't you say a goddamn word to me. Until you've decided to be honest, I don't hear your stupid fucking voice!"_

"_She's-!" Oliver turned to Jarod desperately and abruptly comprehension dawned on him. He'd figured out who Jarod was. "You… you have to talk to her!" he said._

"_Just own up, Oliver," Jarod told him. "Do you have Convergence with Edna?"_

"_No. No! I already told Parker no! Sweet Jesus – why can't you people believe me?!"_

"_You don't sound too sure to me," Jarod replied. "Why are you freaking out? Stay calm, man. You're not some traumatized pregnant woman. What's your excuse?"_

_Oliver glared at him._

"_In other words, you're in denial," Jarod surmised._

_Oliver took his cell phone out. The lights overhead flickered and the bulb nearest to them blew out. Oliver stared down at his phone in horror. It was thoroughly fritzed. "Jesus, Parker!" he yelled. "I wasn't going to call the Sweepers!"_

_Parker laughed and showed him her rude finger._

"_Oh, nice. Mature. Real mature." He dropped his useless phone back into his pocket, scowling. "Look, maybe… Maybe it is so, with Eddie and I. But I wouldn't… I would never… I would never touch her, okay! What more do I have to say to get you to believe me, Parker?"_

_She shook her head. "He doesn't get it," she said, to Jarod or to no one. Turning to Oliver sharply, she said, "I've gotta go, Ol. I can't stay here. But denying your Convergence bond isn't going to make it go away. It'll only antagonize matters further. You have to acknowledge it, work with it. Small, tiny steps. Establish who is in control. _You_ are; you and Eddie. You've got to be strong, because if you make one misstep, just one, you're fucked. It won't go easy on you; it doesn't care if you're cute or sad or not really all that brave. It is brutal. So don't screw up, Ol. Because… I know where you live, and I will find you, and I will flay you alive. And I'll probably smile, play a little mood music. Light some candles."_

_She walked up to him, batting away his frightened face as easily as if it was nothing, a speck of dust on her designer jacket, and curled her hand into the front of his clothes. "Lyle wants you to have this. He thinks it'll help. I don't. He's fucked in the head – what the fuck would he know? He's really fucked. But shit, I just don't care. Fingers crossed, babes." She pulled him closer and kissed him full on the mouth. The bottom of the curtains caught fire of their own volition and the air felt thick and wrong at the same time, volatile like fuel._

_Jarod tried not to breathe, waited painfully for it to be done._

_Parker released Oliver, pushing him away from her slightly, and rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. "You got that, hon? I sure hope you did coz I'm never doing that again. I'd sooner shoot myself dead." She gagged and ran from the room. The curtains stopped burning and resumed smoking ominously._

_Jarod followed Parker out of the room. Oliver sunk down on the sofa, apparently unable to speak._

"_You didn't tell me Lyle had spoken to you," he said, rubbing Parker's back while she washed her mouth out in the kitchen sink, splashing water everywhere._

"_I fuckin' hate Empaths!" she spat. "I fuckin' hate Lyle! Do not speak to me of such things if you value your life."_

"_That's not exactly an answer, Parker."_

_She whipped around, eyes flashing brightly. "Do. Not."_

"_Come on then," he said, straightening to his full height._

_She smacked his chest. Hard. Pushed past him. She plopped down on the sofa beside Oliver. "How do you feel, Ollie?"_

"_Aliens… probed… Not good… Stupid… not remotely sexy…"_

_Parker snickered, patting his arm. "Nope," she agreed. "Not remotely." She stood up once more. "I have to go," she said, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. "You won't remember any of this in the morning, but I really do care for you." She smiled at him a little, sadly, and whispered, "Wish you well, Olz." And then she turned and marched out of the room._

_She fetched her bags from her bedroom and returned to the kitchen, grabbing up Jarod's hand. "Rock and roll, Wonder Boy. Time to go. Make your last goodbyes. After tonight, there is no Blue Cove. No sad hometown love song."_

_Jarod squeezed her hand tighter for a second. "You are my home, Parker, and I'm never going to say goodbye to you again. Rock and roll, Ice Queen."_

_She grinned and they walked to the front door together, hand in hand, pausing for only a moment so Jarod, frowning, could take Parker's luggage. There was a little tug of war before Parker finally gave up and they headed outside, to the rental car._

"_You could've gone for 'Angel', you know?" she said._

_He stowed her suitcase into the trunk and closed it again. "I know," he replied, grinning._

_She narrowed her eyes at him and he winked, just said, "Later."_

_She hiccupped. "Oh damn!"_

_._

_When Harmony and Sydney arrived at Parker's house; Harmony holding a plate of sandwiches, Oliver let them in and led them to the kitchen. He handed them Parker's letter and watched as Harmony set the plate down to read the note written in her daughter's hand. Oliver unwrapped the cling-wrap from the plate and sat down to eat a triangle of sandwich, looking rather ill and somewhat sad, as if he might cry if he didn't do something._

_The letter simply said:_

The end.

Love,

— Miss Parker

_Harmony took a seat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. She didn't know if she did so to comfort him or because she wanted comfort herself. She couldn't quite figure out if she was happy or not._

.

Ethan woke at his desk, his head pounding horribly, and reached for his cell phone. After several unsuccessful attempts, his hand finally decided to cooperate and he dialed Parker's number. He was so sick of all these stupid dreams or visions or whatever the heck they were. He just needed them to stop… and to know that Parker wasn't about to do something totally off the beam… along with Jarod. He'd always known those two were a pair if ever there was one, but this seemed excessively risky, not to mention crazy. If Parker took the baby she was carrying and ran away from the Centre they'd come after her, they'd take the baby off her, and then she'd be dead. No deals, no forgiveness, just stone cold dead.

She could _not_ do this.

His phone just continued to ring.


End file.
